Smells of gun smoke and decaying bodies fill the air. Me and members of my unit are relieved that after a confrontation with enemy forces we are among the living. Twelve years of serving my country through the United States Army, I have seen it all. I have seen people come and go. I have seen limbs detached. I have seen a father lose a son. I have seen a mother lose a daughter. I have seen a brother turn to alcohol. I have seen a sister diagnosed with MDD (Major Depressive Disorder). Middle Eastern deserts. Rainforest in Central Africa. Snowy mountains in the Korean Peninsula. It does no matter where I am deployed. I have experienced and witnessed the full spectrum of the human condition.
My congregation loves when I walk through the pews. In doing so I am preaching the word of God. Laying hands on those that need healing. Edifying the church body. Allowing the spirit of God to lead me in what to do and speak. My long-sleeved purple clerical shirt is not the only reason why I am feeling good. Men. Women. Children. Elders. These make up the people that I shepherd with every atom of my being.
A. Philip Randolph Memorial Library at Borough of Manhattan Community College is my safe haven. Sections are where I find a sense of solace. Shelves carry their own set of wonders. Books of a range of topics help shape and shift my views on society. I take notes from James Baldwin and Ta-Nehisi Coates but remained true to my own life experiences. Literature was the only thing that kept me sane and focused. It is as though I am still discovering who I was as a young black man while frighting enemies both seen and unseen. Bittersweet is the term that was giving to describe this stage of my life.
Whatever money I have left in my pocket I give it to a homeless person. Disrespectful young men get put in their place when they see me coming. Sassy and fresh young ladies change their postures while I am in their presence. Every Monday and Friday I do a book drive. Free of charge. No donations. Nothing. An individual with unlocked potential would walk pass and I hand them a book. One day I saw a young man who resembled my features. It seemed as though he was going through a transition in his life. I handed him a book that had helped me get through my transition into manhood. The books cover was white with bold black letters for the title and the author.
Writer's block is a real thing. Laying on my bed or sitting in front of my desk finding words to put together can be hard at times. Titles, characters, and settings are the easy part. Figuring out where to place them causes difficulty. So many things run through my mind all at once. It is the challenge and the mystery where the thrill is. Climbing up the same mountain and walking up the same hill over and over again is worth it. I do not do this for my own benefit. It is for the reader.
A journal and a pen. Ink and loose leaf. A man and his imagination. Every content of every paragraph is accredited with a pacific month. A month that has cold winds and a bright sun. Pumpkins and apples are found side by side. On our calendar it is the eleventh month of the year. November is the month of my conception and reformation. Born on its second day I was raised as my mother's oldest child. This month has taught me skills and lessons. Citrine and topaz stones have influenced my taste in fashion and art. Living under a rock has become an untold luxury. Weaponizing my feelings and intuition has been both a gift and a curse. Punches and blows I have taken them all. My only competition I have is my reflection. I can't wait to see what is in store for me.
A. Philip Randolph Memorial Library at Borough of Manhattan Community College is my safe haven. Sections are where I find a sense of solace. Shelves carry their own set of wonders. Books of a range of topics help shape and shift my views on society. I take notes from James Baldwin and Ta-Nehisi Coates but remained true to my own life experiences. Literature was the only thing that kept me sane and focused. It is as though I am still discovering who I was as a young black man while frighting enemies both seen and unseen. Bittersweet is the term that was giving to describe this stage of my life.
Whatever money I have left in my pocket I give it to a homeless person. Disrespectful young men get put in their place when they see me coming. Sassy and fresh young ladies change their postures while I am in their presence. Every Monday and Friday I do a book drive. Free of charge. No donations. Nothing. An individual with unlocked potential would walk pass and I hand them a book. One day I saw a young man who resembled my features. It seemed as though he was going through a transition in his life. I handed him a book that had helped me get through my transition into manhood. The books cover was white with bold black letters for the title and the author.
Writer's block is a real thing. Laying on my bed or sitting in front of my desk finding words to put together can be hard at times. Titles, characters, and settings are the easy part. Figuring out where to place them causes difficulty. So many things run through my mind all at once. It is the challenge and the mystery where the thrill is. Climbing up the same mountain and walking up the same hill over and over again is worth it. I do not do this for my own benefit. It is for the reader.
A journal and a pen. Ink and loose leaf. A man and his imagination. Every content of every paragraph is accredited with a pacific month. A month that has cold winds and a bright sun. Pumpkins and apples are found side by side. On our calendar it is the eleventh month of the year. November is the month of my conception and reformation. Born on its second day I was raised as my mother's oldest child. This month has taught me skills and lessons. Citrine and topaz stones have influenced my taste in fashion and art. Living under a rock has become an untold luxury. Weaponizing my feelings and intuition has been both a gift and a curse. Punches and blows I have taken them all. My only competition I have is my reflection. I can't wait to see what is in store for me.
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