Author Archives: M. Bradley

Visitation Day

Posted on by under Short Stories

It had been 20 years since they’d seen each other, and neither knew what to say. David and David Junior, or DJ as his family affectionately called him sat and stared at each other. Each intensely studying the features that they had only seen in the mirror up until this point. They both seemed to be astonished by how much they resemble the other. The younger man had been trying kid this his whole life, but did his best to dismiss it. Even when presented with pictures to prove it, he still shrugged off the comparisons like a running back breaking a tackle. But now, face to face, he couldn’t deny the fact that he was basically staring into a mirror. The older man had spent the last 2 decades in Jefferson City Correctional Facility for manslaughter. And while the crime was committed in self defense, his public defender still pushed him to take a plea deal. “It’s better than the life sentence I would’ve caught for the weight in my trunk.” That’s the way he justified it at the time, and that same thought had brought him a sense of peace over the past 7,254 days. But here he was, just a few months shy of parole, staring at his doppelganger across a steel table.

“Hey Junior,” the elder David said, a slight smile spread across his face, “How you been?” DJ sat there and stared back at his father, stonefaced. “Don’t call me that.”

David let out a light sigh. “Your name is David Williams, Junior, son. Why wouldn’t I call you that?” DJ leaned forward on the table and said, “Because you’ve never been a father to me. You don’t deserve to call me Junior.”

The elder David softly nodded his head, contemplating how to react to his son’s blatant disrespect. “That’s fine. So how have you been DJ?” DJ’s face softened a bit and he gave his father a recap on his life. As David listened, the pain in missing his only son growing up slowly crept onto his face. Once DJ was done, David immediately apologized for his absence. “It’s nothing. You were a street nigga doing street nigga shit,” DJ replied. David shook his head, dismissing the character assassination that was just laid at his feet. “That’s not what is was, son.” DJ leaned by in his plastic chair. “Set me straight then.”

David took a deep breath and began to tell his son the story of his life, and the night that ultimately landed him in prison. David had been a straight A student all through school. He even went to college on a football scholarship. But midway through his sophomore year, he severely injured his hip and was never able to play again. Despite that, he still managed to finish earning his bachelor’s degree in Early Childhood Education. Finding a job after college was struggle of epic proportions. School districts seemed to be reluctant to hire a 6’5” black man to stand in front of a class full of elementary school students. Eventually, David found work in a warehouse. And while he and DJ’s mother, David’s now ex-wife, were able to make ends meet, things quickly changed when she got pregnant with Diana, DJ’s older sister. David was barely able to provide for his wife and newborn daughter with his paycheck from the warehouse. That’s when he was approached by a childhood friend named Antonio. At first, he was just supposed to provide security for Antonio’s meetings with his connect and rivals and he would more than enough money to take care of his family. But when Diana got sick, David needed to earn more. That’s when he started slanging.

For a while, the money was good. Actually, it was better than good. It was great. David was able to pay for his daughter’s medical bills and provide his family with a comfortable lifestyle. But when his wife became pregnant again, David was faced with a difficult choice: continue to work at the warehouse or hit the streets full-time. Antonio offered David a “promotion” of sorts. He became Antonio’s #2. He would be in charge of distributing product to the street-level pushers. But one night, David’s entire world came crashing down. On his way to the store to get formula for his newborn son, a couple of guys from a rival crew ran up on David in the grocery store parking lot and tried to rob him. Afraid of what Antonio might do to his family if he lost the product that was in his trunk, David fought them off with all his might. The brawl ended with one guy dead and another in intensive care. David quickly hopped in his car and sped home. He got there just in time to kiss his baby boy before the police arrived to arrest him.

“So you see son, it was never my intent to leave you.” Tears were rolling down David’s cheeks. Across the table, DJ had began to tear up as well. “I’m so sorry, but I didn’t know what else to do to support you guys.” David reached out for his son, and DJ reached back. The 2 stood up and embraced each other for the first time ever. One of the guards came over and tapped David on the shoulder, letting him know that their behavior was not acceptable. “Sorry, its my first time seeing my son since he was a baby.” The guard nodded and told them to both sit back down.

Once they were back in their respective seats, David asked his son if there was anything else going on in his life. DJ wiped the tears from his eyes, then smiled at his father. He was currently attending the University of Missouri (his father’s alma mater) on a football scholarship. There were even some rumors that he could be drafted by an NFL team after the season. With the biggest grin imaginable, David leaned back in his chair and exclaimed, “That’s my boy!”

The Artist

Posted on by under Short Stories

He prayed that she didn’t call him up to the front of the class. Their eyes locked and he just knew she was going to call his name. He sunk down in his chair and tried to hide behind his textbook. She scanned the room before continuing her lecture. He let out a heavy sigh of relief and went back to his real work, drawing. That’s how he escaped the monotony that had become AP English. While she rattled on about Chaucer, Dickens, Dumas and the rest, he created entire worlds in his sketchbook. Sometimes he even used her lectures as inspiration, like the time he drew a picture of William Shakespeare riding a fire breathing dragon while the class discussed Romeo and Juliet. He was bright back to reality by the bell ringing, so he quickly packed up his belongings and scurried out of the classroom.

The next morning, he walked into class and told himself that he was going to pay attention. In his heart, he knew it was wrong to daydream and draw in the middle of class. He took a seat at his desk and sat up straight in his chair. But just as she got into a long monologue from A Tale of Two Cities, his mind began to wander. He furiously shook his he’d and retrained his focus on his teacher’s words. He tried his hardest to visualize the scene she was reading. Before he knew it, he was sketching his vision on a piece of notebook paper. And that’s when it happened. “Mr. Williams,” she beckoned from the front of the class, “Would you like to share your thoughts on the selection?”

Hearing his name being called instantly snatched him back to the real world. He sat up straight and looked around, slightly bewildered by what was happening. He looked up at his teacher, who was staring directly back at him. He slowly rose from his seat and started to walk towards the front of the room. “And please bring whatever it is you’ve been working on for the last few minutes,” she added. The knot in his throat was the size of an old Buick. He reached back and grabbed the notebook from his desk and continued his death march towards the front.

When he arrived, she reached out for his notebook. Hesitantly, he handed it to her and waited for her response. She studied the paper for what seemed like forever. Finally, she handed it back to him ad said, “Please share with the class what you’ve been doing.” He looked at her and just blinked, unsure of how to proceed. Sensing his confusion, she stood up, grabbed a dry erase marker and handed it to him. “Please reproduce your work on the board behind you,” she clarified. By now, he was sweating bullets. He sat the notebook down on the desk, removed the cap from the marker and began to draw.

When he was done, he turned to face his fellow classmates. The looks on their faces ranged from astonished to inspired. “You’re a incredible artist,” she chimed in, “Do you think you could do this for me with every reading selection for the rest of the semester?” He meekly nodded his head before returning to his seat.

‘Caine and Abel

Posted on by under Short Stories

Fifteen minutes ago, I was good. Now, I can’t get my hands to stop shaking. My heart is beating a million miles an hour. My stomach feels queasy. I’m sweating like I just ran a marathon. “Why did you make me do that,” I screamed, “Why?!” That’s when the tears began to stream down my cheeks. I stood there shaking like a leaf, looking at the result of my actions. My crew grabbed me and stuffed me into the backseat of an SUV and sped off. That’s when I began to sob uncontrollably.

He had been my best friend my whole damn life. Hell, we were closer than friends. We were brothers. Everywhere one of us went, the other was right behind. That’s how we ended up here. We didn’t come from the best neighborhood. Statistically speaking, there were but so many ways to make it out: sports, music, or some sort of illegal activity. And while we were good at both of the former, we chose the latter as our escape route.

We started out selling dime bags for this wanna be big time nigga from our neighborhood when we were 13. Even back then, I think had a sense for how this story would go, how things would eventually end. I was unsure about the whole thing. My big cousin had gotten his brains blown out by his homeboy just the year before. And while the police told the family they suspected that it was a robbery gone bad, we knew what had really happened. I had told myself that I wouldn’t go down that same path. But there I was, accepting a package from a flashy nigga that I didn’t respect in the least bit.

As we grew up, so did our business. We had gone from selling dimes on the corner to moving major weight for these Colombian cats we met through some mutual friends. Nobody suspected that 2 honor roll students from the projects were building the largest drug empire the city had ever seen. And we loved that. Nobody saw us coming. Not even that flashy nigga from back in the day when I stuck a knife in his jugular after I caught wind that he was gonna turn state’s evidence against us. I ain’t gonna lie, it felt good to knock his punk ass off. I would’ve done that just for the hell of it.

As the SUV sped through the city, I slowly began to regain my composure. I found myself staring out the window, wondering what life would’ve been like had we chosen a different path. I saw myself in college, working a regular job in corporate America, getting married, having a couple kids. Up until that point, nothing about a normal life intrigued me. I loved the thrill that came with what we did. But in that moment, after the events of that night, I craved normalcy.

A few minutes later, we pulled into the warehouse that served as our base of operations. I slowly got out of the SUV as the rest of my crew went about business as usual. I stood for a moment and watched what was going on around me. I had never paid this much attention, but now it was like my eyes were opened for the first time. And everything I saw disgusted me. In that very instant, I knew I had to find a way out. I rushed to my office and locked the door. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do or where I was going, but I had to come up with a plan quick.

I poked my head out the office door and quickly scanned the room then called my lieutenant over. He asked what was going on. I told him that I was gonna disappear for a while. His expression quickly soured. I reassured him that everything would be fine, I just needed to get away for a little bit. He told that I should let the rest of the crew know. Reluctantly, I agreed and walked out of the office. Once I had everyone’s attention, I let them know of my intentions to “take a break” for the foreseeable future. Everyone nodded and went back to whatever they were doing.

I grabbed the keys to my BMW 530i and headed outside. The cool night air passed over me and the events of the night fully set in. I had killed my best friend less than an hour ago. Hell, I still had the gun tucked in my waistband. I pulled the Glock out of the small of my back and examined it. Then I pressed it to my temple and squeezed the trigger.

I Hate This Day…

Posted on by under General

Good evening world. I know its been a while since you’ve heard from me aside from the posting of short stories. I wish I could say that everything has been good, but that would be a bit of a lie. But I will say that everything has been better, so that’s what we call progress. Enough small talk though…

Those that know me well enough or have been following this blog know why today is not on my list of favorite dates. But for those that don’t know or don’t wanna read, today marks 11 years to the day that my father has been gone. And while the pain of his departure had begun to dull slightly over the last decade, this year it stings with a renewed vigor. Let me explain why (or Atlanta least try to).

Here I am, just shy of my 38th birthday by a little over 2 months. That in itself isn’t enough to have me on an emotional rollercoaster (shout out to Vivian Green) today. I’ve “celebrated” a decade’s worth of birthdays without my father’s presence. It’s the parallels I’m able to draw between his life and mine that knock me off kilter.

First of all, I’m now older than my father was when I was born. Doesn’t seem like a big deal right? Normally it wouldn’t be until I remind myself that at 37 (almost 38) I don’t have any children of my own. And that’s a knife that cuts on both sides. On the one hand, I think I can literally feel my biological clock ticking. That doesn’t mean I’m going to run out and have kids by the first broad that’ll let me shoot the club up. But at the same time, I feel that gnawing sensation. Like something is telling me that my time is running out. I’ve always said I knew I would be an old parent, but I didn’t want to be a super old parent. Some days, it feels like I won’t ever be a father. That bothers me on a level even I don’t full comprehend.

On the other hand, it saddens me deeply that if I do have kids one day, they’ll be deprived of meeting my dad and vice versa. Anybody that knew my dad (especially later in life) knew how much he loved children. He seemed to thoroughly enjoy plain grandpa to anyone’s toddler if they allowed him to. I honestly think he was looking forward to having grandkids of his own. I can’t help but feel as bough I failed I’m by not producing at least one before he left this mortal coil. I know what you’d gonna say. My father’s spirit will always live on, because I’ll tel my kids countless stories about the old man. That might be true, but its not the same as having him in the flesh.

Lastly (and most importantly), I was diagnosed with Chronic Lymphocytic Leukemia earlier this year. What’s the significance of that, you ask? Well, my father received the same diagnosis in the summer of 2001. He lost his life in the fall of 2007. And while the logical side of my brain is spewing facts (I’m younger at my time of diagnosis than he was by 16 years, my doctors caught it in time to get me on a course of action that should allow me to live a long and healthy life, medicine has progressed over the last decade and a half, just because the diagnosis is the same that doesn’t mean the end result will be the same, etc) at me all day every day, the emotional side of me can’t help but feel a pinch of dread. Even if I do everything the doctors tell me to do, that’s no guarantee that I won’t lose my battle with cancer too. Now this isn’t the first time I’ve stared down my own mortality. Usually there’s something calming about looking at the fact that life is finite. It helps me to refocus on the things I want to achieve in this life. But now, for some reason, I’m paralyzed by fear. I think it has to do with the pedestal I place my father upon. In my eyes, he was the strongest man in the world, a real life superhero. If he couldn’t beat cancer, what chance do I have? I know that’s defeatist thinking and I have to strike it from my mind. But I just can’t. It’s usually among my first thoughts in the morning, and my last at night.

The Uber Driver

Posted on by under Love & Relationships, Short Stories

He smiled at her. She smiled back. He caught her as she began to fall. “We really gotta stop meeting like this,” he said with a chuckle as he helped her back to her feet. She let out a loud giggle in return, you know the kind that comes with being totally drunk.

“You’re always gonna be my knight in shining armor,” she replied as she tried to steady herself on her 6 inch stilettos. Once he was confident she wasn’t going to fall, he opened up the car door and helped her into the back seat. As usual, she sprawled out on his leather interior and was out like a light. This had been their routine almost every Friday night for the last 6 or 7 months.

As he drove through midtown Atlanta, he couldn’t help but peek back at his sleeping passenger. They had met on whim. He was an Uber driver and she was out on the town celebrating a promotion with her law firm. Just as she had tonight, she had gotten way too drunk to function, let alone drive herself home. Their first couple of rides together were completely random, just the luck of the draw or Uber’s algorithms. But the same couldn’t be said after the third, fourth or fifth times he picked her up.

“It’s kismet,” she had said on that sixth ride, “We’re meant to do this song and dance for a while.” They exchanged numbers that night, purely for business reasons of course. At least, that’s what they told themselves.

There were nights when she was coherent for the ride from whatever bar he picked her up at to her home in Sandy Springs. Those were the nights he enjoyed most. He had learned so much about her during their time together. She was the oldest of three children, all girls. She had graduated at the top of her class from Harvard law. But instead of taking a job with a high-powered firm in New York, she came back to her hometown to try and make a difference. She started off working in the public defender’s office, but later moved on to corporate law. Hell, if he wanted, he could probably write her biography. But he wanted more than to just be her ride home after a night on the town. He wanted much more.

After a few minutes, they arrived in front of her townhouse. He put the car in park and went to help his still unconscious passenger out of the back seat. By the time he got around to the curbside door, she was already standing up and waiting for him.

“We’ve really gotta stop meeting like this,” he said, his voice a little more uneasy than the first time he said it earlier in the evening.

“But how else would we meet?” she retorted. He had no answer for her. They linked arms and he walked her to her door. Still arm-in-arm, he patiently waited for her to fish her keys out of her purse. Once she had retrieved them from her bag, he turned to walk back to his car. But she didn’t let his arm go. He tried to gently pul away again, but she responded by tightening her lock on his arm.

“Is there something else I can do for you,” he asked, confused as to why she didn’t let go.

“Spend the night with me.” As much as he had been dying to hear her say those words, he knew deep down inside she couldn’t possibly mean it. But that didn’t stop his imagination from quickly running wild with idea. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“You don’t mean that, you’re drunk.” He tried to pull away again, but she resisted again. He turned to face her and she dove into his arms. As he had so many times before, he caught her. Every inch of his being wanted to kiss her, but he didn’t. He just held her in his arms and stared at her. He knew he was falling for her. If he was truly honest with himself, he knew he had fallen a long time ago. But he always told himself that they were from two completely different worlds and it could never work.

“Ive seen how you look at me when you think I’m asleep in your backseat.” He stood her back on her 6 inch stilettos. Once she was steady again, he took a step back. She instantly closed the distance and kissed him. In that moment, he allowed himself to indulge in his fantasies and kiss her back.

When they finally came up for air, he tried to walk away again. She grabbed his hand and pulled him back towards her front door. He feigned at resisting although there was no way to hide his feelings anymore.

“You’re drunk,” he repeated as she pulled him through the door. She ignored him and swung the door closed behind them. She stepped out of the stilettos she had been in all night. He let out a small chuckle as he noticed how much shorter she was without her heels on.

“I can’t believe it took me almost 6 months worth of binge drinking to finally get you inside my place.” She started to unbutton his pants as he stood there in what could only be described as shock.

“I’ve wanted you since the first night I saw you.” Then she took him by the hand and led him upstairs.

A Letter to My Father (Which is Probably Long Overdue)

Posted on by under General

Dear Chief,

It’s been 10 years since you left. I hate saying that. I hate saying it that way. You didn’t leave by your own volition, you were taken from us by an seemingly unstoppable monster. I wish I could say the last decade has been easy for me. Hell, to call it hard would be a gross understatement. I hate that you’re not here for me to lean on when I feel like I have nobody. I hate that I’ll never get to see you flash that Cheshire Cat grin again. I hate that I’ll never hear you call me Slick, Knucklehead or any other of the countless names you had for me. I hate that the only picture I have of you is almost as old as I am. What was your aversion to cameras anyway?

I went to a very dark place for a really long time after you were gone. I did a lot of things I’m not proud of. Hurt a lot of people that tried to do nothing but care for me. I think that’s part of the reason why I’m still apprehensive about letting someone in. I know karma is a cold hearted bitch and I know I’m on her radar. I’m scared that all the negative I put out into the world will come crashing back at the same time and in a way I might not survive. But more on that later.

I wrote a book. I don’t know if that’s the vision you had for me when you first decided to nurture that writer’s spirit in me, but it felt like something I needed to do. And while it might not have done the numbers I (we) would’ve wanted, everyone that’s read constantly tells me how wonderful the story is. Even though it almost killed me in more than one way and on more than one occasion to write it, I have you to thank for the foresight to let me dream on paper.

I met someone. I really wish you were here to meet her. I wish she still wanted me the way I want her. Maybe she does, but just needs a little space from all the baggage I’ve dropped on her. Maybe this is karma’s way of balancing the ledger. I don’t know. Maybe I’m too damaged to love or be loved. I pray that the struggles we’re going through right now are just temporary. I’d hate to see my life without her. 

I’m scared, Dad. Not of anything or anyone. But of not living up to the vision you had for me. I’m scared that I’m never going to be the man you wanted me to be. Even worst, I’m scared I never was gonna be him. Times like this are when I would come to you for advice. But with you not being here, who do I turn to? I feel more alone now than ever have before.

That’s all I have for now. I promise to come visit you soon. It’s hard for me to be there, but that’s not an excuse. I love you, Chief.

Dear John

Posted on by under Love & Relationships, Poetry

Before you say it, I know what you’re thinking. This is my second post of the day. I’m not really saying anything interesting, just posting poetry. That’s because I finally was able to access something that had a majority of my work on it. Now if I could just find someone that did data recovery for less than an arm and a leg, I could really get back to it. But I digress. This is another poem from the “Letters From the Heart” series. I hope you enjoy it…

Dear John,

I know you have no idea who I am
Let me introduce myself
Won’t tell you my name, just know that I’m the other man
I can be any man
Your best friend, your worst enemy, even your brother man
What I’m doing is wrong but look at it on the other hand
She has me on the side to do things you never can
And it’s not just sex man, we hang out, go shopping together 
We talk about everything, y’all only discuss the weather
So I’m writing this letter to ask you to just let her go
She needs to move from you so that our live can grow 
And I know you’re gonna feel some kinda way about that
So I’m waiting in anticipation for your response back

Signed,
Your Replacement 

If I Should Die Tonight

Posted on by under Poetry

If I should die tonight, would you miss me
Show up at my funeral in black, eyes misty
The list of folks that would come can’t be that long
But who knows, about this I could be wrong
On the other side, I’ve been an ass my whole life
Running off everyone from my friends to my wife
Feels like I’m at the end of my rope, with no hope
And things just ain’t looking up, now my time is up
The casket is closed, the service is over
With dirt, the grave is filling up
So here lies, me
A son, brother and friend to many
Not much to the world, so much more to a few
A hard man with a soft side very few folks knew
If I should die tonight, what would you call me
Would you look back on our time together and think of me fondly 

Another Brief Recap of Recent Events for Those That are Interested…

Posted on by under General

Wow. I haven’t posted in this blog in almost a year. And even that post wasn’t original, although it was definitely something that everyone needed to hear, see and read. The funny part of me letting 345 days pass since my last post is that I’ve found myself reading several of the posts in this blog over the last year. Talk about a narcissistic personality, huh? But seriously, there’s something about reading my own words that both helps me reconnect with my former self (because I’m definitely not the same person that wrote most of these posts) and inspires me to want to create more. And that’s what brings us here today.

 

The last year of my life has seen quite a few changes. I moved (again). I got another tattoo. My health has decided it wants to be a bit bipolar (more on that on another day maybe). I also got released by my publisher (per my request, of course).

 

But the one thing that hasn’t happened over this last year is I have not finished Torn Part 2. To those of you that enjoyed and supported Part 1, that sent me messages and left reviews asking for the sequel, I’m truly sorry. It’s not that I’ve decided not to finish the book. Quite the contrary, I wanna know what happens to Vince in Part 2 and Part 3 (yes, there will be a third book) just as much as you all do. But for a myriad of reasons that I can’t fully understand nor explain, I just haven’t been able to sit down and write that story. And I don’t want to try and force it. Vince deserves better. You, as the reader, deserve better.

 

With all that being said, I solemnly promise that Torn Part 2 and Part 3 are coming! I can’t tell you exactly when, I’m currently having some technical difficulties with the hard drive that holds the most updated version of Torn 2’s manuscript. But they are coming, along with some other really cool story ideas that have come to me lately.

 

In the meantime to hold you over, there’s an excerpt from Torn 2 posted in this very blog. Maybe I’ll post another one this weekend. Until then, peace and love

Transcript of Jesse Williams’ BET Humanitarian of the Year Award Acceptance Speech 

Posted on by under General, In the Words of Another..., Piss Off the World

Peace peace. Thank you, Debra. Thank you, BET. Thank you Nate Parker, Harry and Debbie Allen for participating in that. 
Before we get into it, I just want to say I brought my parents out tonight. I just want to thank them for being here, for teaching me to focus on comprehension over career, and that they make sure I learn what the schools were afraid to teach us. And also thank my amazing wife for changing my life.
Now, this award – this is not for me. This is for the real organizers all over the country – the activists, the civil rights attorneys, the struggling parents, the families, the teachers, the students that are realizing that a system built to divide and impoverish and destroy us cannot stand if we do. It’s kind of basic mathematics – the more we learn about who we are and how we got here, the more we will mobilize. 
Now, this is also in particular for the black women in particular who have spent their lifetimes dedicated to nurturing everyone before themselves. We can and will do better for you. Now, what we’ve been doing is looking at the data and we know that police somehow manage to deescalate, disarm and not kill white people everyday. So what’s going to happen is we are going to have equal rights and justice in our own country or we will restructure their function and ours.
Now… I got more y’all – yesterday would have been young Tamir Rice’s 14th birthday so I don’t want to hear anymore about how far we’ve come when paid public servants can pull a drive-by on 12 year old playing alone in the park in broad daylight, killing him on television and then going home to make a sandwich. Tell Rekia Boyd how it’s so much better than it is to live in 2012 than it is to live in 1612 or 1712. Tell that to Eric Garner. Tell that to Sandra Bland. Tell that to Dorian Hunt. 
Now the thing is, though, all of us in here getting money – that alone isn’t gonna stop this. Alright, now dedicating our lives, dedicating our lives to getting money just to give it right back for someone’s brand on our body when we spent centuries praying with brands on our bodies, and now we pray to get paid for brands on our bodies.
There has been no war that we have not fought and died on the front lines of. There has been no job we haven’t done. There is no tax they haven’t leveed against us – and we’ve paid all of them. But freedom is somehow always conditional here. “You’re free,” they keep telling us. But she would have been alive if she hadn’t acted so… free.
Now, freedom is always coming in the hereafter, but you know what, though, the hereafter is a hustle. We want it now.
And let’s get a couple things straight, just a little sidenote – the burden of the brutalized is not to comfort the bystander.That’s not our job, alright – stop with all that. If you have a critique for the resistance, for our resistance, then you better have an established record of critique of our oppression. If you have no interest, if you have no interest in equal rights for black people then do not make suggestions to those who do. Sit down.
We’ve been floating this country on credit for centuries, yo, and we’re done watching and waiting while this invention called whiteness uses and abuses us, burying black people out of sight and out of mind while extracting our culture, our dollars, our entertainment like oil – black gold, ghettoizing and demeaning our creations then stealing them, gentrifying our genius and then trying us on like costumes before discarding our bodies like rinds of strange fruit. The thing is though… the thing is that just because we’re magic doesn’t mean we’re not real.
Thank you