I remember when I was seventeen and a woman asked me if I was saved. I didn’t have any idea what she meant. Saved, what the heck was saved? The best thing I could think through was am I like my grandmother? And I adamantly told her no because I am not like my grandmother.
I do hip hop music. Its more than music it’s actually a culture; it is the lens by which you see the world. They are talking reckless, what you expecting from the walking dead. It’s okay to be passionate, bold: it’s masculinity, it is what I do. I used to sneak and watch rap videos in my grandmother’s house because I was too little and she wouldn’t have let me watch them. I would sit there and marvel late at night. I found people to look up to. There were no Barak Obamas, Martin Luther Kings or Malcom Xs, they had all passed away so I had Tupac. I’ve been trapped since birth cautious cause that I’m cursed, fantasies of my family in a hearse, and they say it’s the white man I should fear, but its my own kind doing all the killing here.
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