The Realest Words I Ever WroteI was born on May 28, 1978 in Washington, D.C., S.E. As a child... as 1 year old, or a 2 year old, you don't really understand poverty, hunger, or right or wrong, but you understand emotions; pain, hurt, the deep down sadness in which you can feel in your gut. 5 kids in a two bedroom apartment, 2652 Martin Luther King, Jr. Ave in the heart of projects; Barry Farms, Park Chester, Congress Heights, and where I learned my first few lessons of survival, 2652, a place that was known by its occupants as the "Ellos." Though I could talk plenty about how my aunt "Soap" put a cigarette in my mouth when I was only two, or how my young and rebellious 20 year old mother, "Tootsie," made me walk the streets of M.L.K barefooted in the middle of the night because she didn't want me to fear anything, or I could talk about how I first felt when my aunt "Leta", her and I being the same age and more like brother and sister, her father treating us differently, that was the first day I saw my mom wanting and trying to kill somebody for treating me less than a person. I could talk about me sharing a six-pack of Blue Bull with my uncle "Inksey," at the age 8, watching the Pistons play the Lakers. Or maybe I could talk about the scar of my face that I received in Detroit at the age of 7, or the scar on my heart, the first time I watched a man beat a woman; drag her down the sidewalk street in the snow into the house, and lift her from her feet to choke her in front of her son. Or maybe I could talk about my family moving to Belhaven, in Landover, MD. My grandmother being robbed and my great aunt being raped, and my cousins being jumped after school because they were pretty; or maybe I could talk about the powdered cocaine, the overdoses, the murders, the deaths, and the lessons learned, and there will always be more heart ache. For all this we stayed together. For 20 some years of my life I lived this, and I am only one man, and one story. But I believe that are many children out there who have similar experiences or worst. And I could go on, about how out of my grandmothers 20 plus grandchildren, more than half of us are fatherless, and those that do have fathers, they would probably wish those men were not around. And in my heart, as I reflect, I have felt like I have died a thousand times, and the only thing that has kept me alive, was knowing that when I closed my eyes at night, and when I would pray with an open an pure heart, I knew that my father God would always answer my prayers and protect me. Even now, I cry sometimes thinking of what he has brought me through, and what he has giving me; a new life, a purpose, a destiny, a vision. For all the pain that I see in the world, I wish that I cold make it mine, and take it all away. I truly love all of you. And even now, for all my triumph and success, men who I was once brothers with, now see me as an enemy. Men who when we were boys, we used to dress a like, go into each other's refrigerators like it was our own home, call each others mom, mom, and I would call there fathers pop or embrace there fathers like they where mine. Now, only distance between us will calm the demons. And it's that same look from those who didn't rise from the ashes that look at you with contempt, and malice. But they are too afraid to realize that they too can be greater than they could ever imagine. And if I died today, I am thankful, for God has allowed me to see peace, a world that is non-material, a love that was un-conditional, the kiss from my son lips, the warmth of my wife's affection, the confirmation from my mother, the proud look from my uncle, and the admiration from my brother or cousins who came after me. Thank you God for allowing me to see and experience your love and pain.