INNOCENT THOUGHTS OF A GUILTY MAN

Gather around, take a knee, listen and hear, My stories of sorrow, and our own trail of tears. What is it they don't get I wonder? What is it they can't understand? That all lives do matter, but yet they don't for a black man. How do I appropriately display my black anger, in a way that doesn't breed hate? How can I adequately portray my frustration, in a way that the majority can relate? How could they even begin to understand, the life lived in just one day? To wake up so mad at the world, and yet have to put that anger away. Go to work Black man, put on your suit and your tie, Smile in the face of the white man, be respectful, be polite. All while hiding the anger inside, wondering if you're sacrificing your pride. Because you know that doing things right,  doesn't really matter, you're still likely to die Take a knee young man, listen to my tales, Of being black in a world, systematically set for you to fail. What could I possibly say, t...

Growing up in the suburbs you would think it would be really nice. Pretty homes, green grass, neighborhood cookouts. But not if you lived in my suburb. Not that it wasn't nice, it was, accept for me and my friends. We terrorized the neighborhood. And even now as a responsible adult, I reflect on my earlier years as a menace to society as I share three of my favorite stories of juvenile delinquency. KNOCK KNOCK: One of our favorite things to do I believe is an american classic for adolescent boys. The knock and run. You know, sneak out the house after midnight and go around the neighborhood knocking on doors and running. But one night we got bored with the ordinary routine, so we got a bit bolder. We were gonna knock on doors and then run and hide across the street in the bushes and watch what happened. No longer would we run away and miss out on the reaction. So my it's my buddies turn to knock and we all hide as he goes over, bangs on the door, and hauls ass back t...