I Dream in Ink

I didn’t dream it… That stage, those lights… I felt like I was in a movie…

Breaking my cherry while my words flowed was needed sustenance – oh how it moved me.

My flow – my time – my style – the ambiance

Captivated – motivated…

I captured my audience.

Now that the has adrenaline worn off

Back to the place where dreams are bounded.

I come from a no man’s land in the middle of a city where we had been forgotten.

A place where seeing was learning and learning was survival. – No time to dream.

Sitting, standing, ready for a “pop pop” followed by a scream.

See, the projects is where I dare to dream.

Living within these bounds, many succumbed to the way of life,

It’s a struggle, hardly a day I don’t have to fight.

A fight for a thought, a prayer, a meaning to my existence…

Even on my worst enemy I wouldn’t wish this.

Spending many of nights waking up to the sounds of bullets and screaming that ended with a victim.

Staring down and a grieving mother holding just momentum.

The days were the cold, even in the summer. As concrete floors served as a safe place from stray bullets - you can’t outrun ‘em.

My unspoken words became my salvation where language ceased.

Away from the drugs, whores, abuse and slayings, I found my voice. My inner peace.

My pen, my paper, the power of my mind set on dream instead of weak.

My heart began to bleed ink caught in the rapture of paper.

That’s how I now speak.

In the Projects, I dreamed.