Nah. Fuck That.

You have always been such an interesting topic.

My mother spoke on you when I was younger and was not afraid to tell me about you. You are with everyone just as much as Jesus is, and she loves talking about Jesus.

You finally visited me through my grandma, who’s not my grandma, and showed me your power in THIS world. My cousins and I didn’t really understand, and we weren’t that attached (we didn’t like her - she had cancer and we thought that she was just mean for no reason). So we never talked much about it afterwards.

You visited my brothers friend when he was in the 8th grade. We never talked about that one either, but I remember he came straight home from the bus and just sat on his bed staring at the ceiling almost paralyzed.

You visited my cousins best friend growing up. He and I used to fight when we were younger because I would pick fights with everyone when I was younger. My cousins were pissed and that was the first time I actually knew someone who had been killed. I still cannot comprehend.

You came closer.

You visited Julio when I went off to have the best summer of my life in 2015 and I couldn’t help but feel guilty. You made me feel guilty. I could not have possibly left to spend time with rich white kids who probably didn’t need me more than my friends needed me at home. I had never left until that point and then this happened. I could have talked to them. I could have talked to all of them. I could have told them that I loved them and maybe they would have stopped. I really believe that. 2 days later I saw his face on the local news via Facebook and I also saw the face of the killers. They were also the siblings of my homegirl. We all used to ride the bus home together. They all used to pick fights anyways, so I guess it makes sense that the pride grows just as the age does. You can’t just fight someone when you’re 19 anymore, you have to kill them. You have to.

I wrote a few songs about that one around the time that my mom was having suicidal thoughts and telling me about them. I would go to chapel and she would tell me that was it, it was time, and that I have to take the reigns from there. I don’t know what she did at that time, but I know she’s here so I think that’s good thing.

My dad went to the hospital a few months ago with some heart issues surrounding his drinking. I really didn’t believe it was time, but I also didn’t even want to debate. I hated that.

Peter was hurt this morning. Surgery went well, and he even replied to my text. Its love everywhere. But God Damn.

I used to think about death a lot as a kid. I never pictured myself getting to this age; not because I really believed I would be killed or die some other way or whatever other thing stereotypical hood Brown boys say pessimistically. But more so I didn’t have the headspace, or maybe allow myself the headspace. I think I have always been more scared about living than I have dying. And I’m fine, but like I definitely believe that. And that’s fine, too, I think. I believe, I mean.

I have been close to death a lot before.

Nah.

Fuck That.