I define me. I refuse to let anyone else tell my story; and damn, do i have a story to tell. You might not want to hear it, but if you just follow me for bit, I think you’ll find this story interesting. Its an angry story, a violent story, a sad story, a love story, and a hateful story. I tell this story from the perspective of three minds that find sanctuary in my head. They are the philosopher, the Black Nationalist, and the Writer. Of the three, it is the Writer who should be trusted., the Black Nationalist is dangerous and unpredictable, the Philosopher is.., well., you’ll see for yourself..
I was born into poverty. it was my assigned lot in life that i have never been able to accept. It was that unwillingness to accept my inheritance that lead down a winding road of more loss.
I have seen the belly of the beast. I have touched its ribs and smelled its rotten flesh. I have been stung by its poisonous venom, not once, but twice.
Out of my trials and tribulations, i have become wise, and through this wisdom, i have understanding, and through my understanding, I have power.