It began way back when, I was usuing a pencil, instead of a pen. Taking notes in class, running the halls with my pants half-way down my a**, but I passed. With the protection of a professor who posed prose to my frontal lobe making me think. The ink ran off ways to survive on love instead of learning new ways to hate; so days became hazy, when young ladies were having babies at 13--this was far from a dream, this was my beginnings of poetry. It became my sanctuary, from the scary and misunderstood; from them woods in the hood, Nebraska livin' not that good, racist suckas, drug husslas, and busta a** cops....destee, ya boy has gone through a lot. But I learned, kept yearnin to do betta, get better, try new things succeed in jumpin through rings, define the meanings and realities of that which surrounds me. Love poetry, live spoken word, from my pen and pad, to the stage and the curb, these are just some words, but for some--life itself--not worried bout the wealth, just the health. Because I plan to get old, see wrinkles unfold, bounce grandchild on knees when the trees are frozen and the outside cold-- just hold me. And give me some ink, a nice old pad and some time to think... I'll come back with sounds and phrases, memories of old days that craved to be played from the banks of the past-- oh just let it last!!! I can imagine the insides of everlasting evenings with individuals who inspire with rhetoric of righteoness--blessing the stress be relieved from brains..... Sometime it gets hard to maintain within' the frame of frantic faces frowning and fronting just to bring you down.... But I'm that **** good swimmer who refuses to drown, The Creator crowned me with locks--so I'm positive when poets are around. Keep doin' your thing you are kings and queens keep your mental on an upswing and your beliefs real high and know that in Nabraska, you'll have a friend for life..... I do apologize if this is a little choppy, but it's fresh off the brain.