"A wise man told me don’t argue with fools
Cause people from a distance can’t tell who is who"


we did not build this wretched house they have placed us in.

we are not the architects responsible for the horrid foundation on which we have been forced to try and build. the pipes were not busted by the overflow of our greed. the holes in the wall are not a result of self-inflicted damage nor were the windows shattered from the inside. there is no blood on our fists. we did not build this hell-hole of a house. we were forced into it.

how can we fix something we had no hand in building?

the infrastructure of this complex is beyond complex. the evil architect put much effort into creating this establishment. an evil genius. he has carefully crafted a broken situation and has left the residents to fix his intentional errors.

when you move into a new house, everything must be perfect. there must be no damage. but if there is, you are not expected pull out your magic toolbox and repair the problems on your own. you call on those who have knowledge on how the house was built. that is the only way any damages will be efficiently repaired.

now, let us use this analogy for the case of black life in america. history has told us that africans were shipped to america and forced to work. that was the first brick being laid for the house of horror we have come to reside in. fast forward, slaves are freed, but black men and women are still treated as less than human.

before all of this, black men and women did not view themselves as less than human. whether they were royalty or carpenters, they were their own people. they had their own idea of their identity. they did not belong to anyone. everything changed when they became possessions rather than people. purchases with only one purpose: to serve.

overtime, it has been ingrained into the black man’s mind that he is “less than”. the evil architect released the black man from the field and placed him in a house where the gaping holes in the roof allow drops of self-doubt to constantly rain on his head. the more drops that fall, the more you believe in the rain. the more you are told that you are something, the higher the chance that you will begin to believe it. african americans were not born hating themselves. they were taught. they were not born thinking they were nothing. they were told.

we currently live in a house that is crumbling, scrambling to find solutions to fix it. but we did not build this mind-state. we were forced into it. the only solution will come from those who created the situation. we did not create racism, we are simply the ones affected by it. and since we are the ones affected by it, it seems as though it is up to us to fix it.

but this is not the case.

it is up to the ones with the blood on their hands to cleanse themselves and help us rebuild from the ground up.

until then, we will remain here.

looking for shelter as our shelter falls on us.

looking for solutions to a problem we will never be able to solve on our own.

Ms. Me.

you don’t miss me

you’re just lonely

you just wish you

had a homie

who was with you

at the moment

but you don’t so

you’re alone and

you decide to

hit me up and

then you try to

bring it up like

"you remember…"

i say “no” ‘cause

i just know better

i once wrote letters

in tears of ink, and

sent them to you

return to sender

is what you would do

when there were chances

i’d barely see you

don’t say you miss me

i won’t believe you

you don’t miss me

you’re just lonely

don’t get me wrong, i’m

still your homie

but these days, you

don’t even know me

you say you miss me

i’d say then show me

but you don’t miss me

you miss the old me

these days, i don’t

need anyone to hold me

i’m not lonely

i’m just roaming

always knowing

where my home is

i know one day, i

may come back

when i say i miss you

i mean just that

i always have

and always will

but right now, we

just need to chill

you gave me chills

now my heart is cold

and if you really do miss me

i’d rather not know…


i do not
want to be
in american soil
it is rich
and soft as my deathbed
it is drenched
in the blood
of innocence
and although
i am dead
it would kill me
to feel the spill
of my brother’s blood
on my skin.

i am dead
and i do not
want to be
buried in blood
so do not
lower my casket
in to this mud.


a new life
has bloomed from the womb

while we mourn
over lives
that were doomed too soon.

every ending
is the beginning
of all things new

after tears
there are smiles
but only a few.

an army
has began to deploy

while a boy
is equipped with joy
that you cannot destroy.

a baby is smiling
at the sight
of her mother

while a mother is crying
at the sight
of her baby.

the world has gone mad
and though the chaos persists
sorrow and joy
simultaneously exists.

the darkness
of evil
has clouded our sight

so its hard
to see
that there is still light.


i can’t watch tv. i can’t watch the live streams. i can’t look at the pictures. i can’t do it. it’s like staring at the lifeless body of a loved one in a casket at their funeral. or staring at the dead body of a defenseless black man in the street. or being forced to watch a mother cry for hours as her son’s blood boils on the concrete stove under the summer heat. i don’t want to see that. i do not like to see helplessness. i feel helpless myself. i want to do something but all i can do is watch. i don’t want to watch. everything is depressing. i want to move. preferably to another planet. mankind is like a cancerous tumor to mother earth. she is crying. damn near dying. we are destroying everything as well as ourselves. for a moment, i wish i was blind. mentally and physically. i don’t want to see anything. why would i want to witness innocent people be treated like enemy soldiers by a force that was made to protect them? i can’t look at this shit man. there’s real life war vehicles in a small american town. snipers. tear gas. smoke bombs. fucking war shit. like this is afghanistan or something. this is our own land. the ones who are supposed to “protect and serve” are only protecting their pride and serving nothing but cold dishes of fear. enough for the whole town to eat. this can’t be life. i’ve been living these past few days hoping i’m gonna wake up soon and none of this’ll be real. that four unarmed black men weren’t just murdered in one month. that police aren’t the ones killing us. that it isn’t hunting season for black lives. but this is real. and it’s getting realer everyday. can’t run from it. i wish i could though. i want to do something. but i don’t know what i can possibly do at this point. besides watch. watch the world crumble right under our feet. power is a deadly virus that has infected humankind since the beginning of time. power is the cause of all war. power is the fuel behind the fire of racism. power is what shoots the bullet through the soul of the innocent. power is what puts fear in those who want peace. power is corrupt. power is what bends the truth and keeps the people blind. but there is power in numbers. and there is more of us than them. but their power has convinced many of us that we are powerless. we are not. we have power. enough to change something. but.. idk. idk what i’m talking about. i’m just… idk. this shit is depressing. we are witnessing the world eat itself alive. and i don’t want to see that. i can’t stand to watch this anymore…