Mind
“Clarity is not loud. It arrives when the noise stops.”
Tracing Nas
I used to trace Nas rhymes.
I was ten, going on eleven—
New York State of Mind.
“Study is how vision sharpens.”
I used to trace Nas rhymes,
then say Nas rhymes.
I was ten,
going on eleven—
New York State of Mind.
Where I backflip
into eloquence,
elaboration.
My mind’s racing,
but I’m running with him.
This subsection of suppliance,
society’s survival surveillance.
I’m standing,
seeing everything—
4K enhancements.
Ain’t nobody fucking with him.
He got me picturing myself
in Timbs,
army jacket,
skully—
the way I wear it.
I’m stepping through
the fog of Queensbridge,
where all these niggas live.
Visionary designer.
New York State of minder.
That nigga Nas had insomnia.
It’s no sleeping.
Everlasting
Some minds need energy.
Others run on memory alone.
“Not everything needs power when it already holds memory.”
Weathered whether we surpass it—
indifferent endeavors,
natural tendency,
elite identity.
I’m like that first sip of Hennessy:
first sour,
then it becomes sweet.
I’m nasty—
with three stages of memory:
Past.
Present.
Eternity.
My mind equipped with no batteries.
It’s like a MacBook library—
always charged,
always archived.
Everlasting.
Still Adjusting
A reflection on emotional intelligence, expectation, and the quiet work of recalibration after disappointment.
“Growth isn’t loud.
It recalibrates.”
Superman needed the sun.
All I need is semi-auto drums—
a rhythm of coming up,
a cult of focus, not followers.
Adjusting to being treated unjustly,
just to get comfortable being Jhust.
What?
Every answer leads to results.
We don’t do refunds—
even your heart ain’t enough.
This is emotional intelligence.
Sort out your emotional benevolence.
Reality versus expectation.
Reference the difference
between vision
and belief.
My expectations were so high
the disappointment
had me sleeping for weeks,
swimming in sheets.
This recoup will be elite.
Build back from destruction.
Keep in mind—
I’m still adjusting.
Until We Start
A reflection on potential, reinvention, and how greatness rarely arrives in familiar uniforms.
“History doesn’t repeat itself.
It reappears in new forms.”
The next Haile Selassie
could be an architect.
The next Malcolm X
could be a fashion designer.
We won’t know
until we start.
The Subconscious Library
The subconscious stores everything.
The conscious decides what survives.
Growth begins with learning what to keep—and what to release.
“Not everything stored deserves retrieval.”
The subconscious is a library—
a living archive of memory, experience, instinct, and repetition.
Everything you absorbed without permission
is stored there.
The conscious is the filter.
The editor.
It decides what gets retrieved,
what gets framed as thought,
and what remains buried.
One holds everything.
The other chooses.
Remember—
some memories must be shredded
to make room for new ones.
Spring-clean the mind.
Discard what’s broken.
Release what no longer serves you.
Mirror Work
This mirror won’t show your ugly.
It reflects strength, structure, and what’s still possible.
“This is not denial.
It’s a different angle.”
I hope you see yourself in me.
This mirror won’t show your ugly.
This mirror reflects
beauty and opportunity,
strength and structure,
optimism without denial.
My pops told me,
“No one sees you the way you see yourself.”
So let me show you what I see.
If you’re reading this,
it’s too late not to be nosey.
I see faith—
hoping one day love becomes a gain,
not a loss.
More bae, c’mon
than bae, I’m gone.
It gets sore after a while
chasing gones.
It gets boring after a while
chasing thoughts.
Should Have
I don’t replay regret loudly.
It shows up as distance.
As places I never stood long enough to call home.
Some choices don’t haunt you—
they simply remind you
that you noticed the fork in the road.
I should’ve went to Morehouse
instead of my dog’s house.
I should’ve went to school
instead of cutting up, acting a fool.
I should’ve used the tools God gave.
Instead, I was in survival mode—
ducking graves,
still grieving some type of pain.
I don’t even feel any type of way.
I just know how to write it away.
I should’ve gone to Oak Bluffs for the summer.
I was in the hood,
watching niggas serve undercovers.
God above us,
but God forgot what’s under us.
Should have.
Could have.
Would have.
I don’t blame my hood
or my past.
I accept what I can’t change.
I move forward—
because there’s nothing I lose
that I can’t get back.
Low Cost
Nothing is free.
Especially the things that save you.
A like won’t cost you a million dollars.
No risk.
No sacrifice.
No explanation required.
Just a small acknowledgment that something reached you.
I’ve watched people hesitate anyway.
As if recognition were a currency they might run out of.
As if generosity needed approval.
But attention moves things.
Quietly.
Incrementally.
You don’t always see the change right away—
just a shift in posture,
a little more confidence in the next step,
a reason to keep going.
Nothing dramatic.
Just the world responding
to being noticed.
Negative Return
I invested honestly.
Time. Attention. Care.
But in return,
my value came back negative—
not lost,
just slowly reduced
by staying too long.
Damn—I handcuffed myself
to giving people
the attention,
care,
help,
and love
I always needed.
I turned tears into smiles.
In the moment,
it feels worth it.
But in return,
my value comes back negative—
all investment,
no return.
It’s a Lonely Road
Some roads don’t offer reassurance.
They offer space.
This is about walking anyway—
learning to trust the pace,
the silence,
and yourself.
It’s a lonely road
when you write episodes in your head.
Some people don’t understand.
They call it weird.
I avoid the stress
by not paying attention.
I’ve written for years.
I was scared.
The mind is rare.
So is time.
I get better—
more expressive,
more patient,
learning the basics.
Until one day
the way I think
speaks for itself.
Wake Up Call
This isn’t a warning.
It’s the moment you realize
effort doesn’t guarantee belonging,
and worth doesn’t promise safety.
That’s the part that changes you.
I wasn’t properly loved.
So my emotional intelligence
developed through negligence.
You learn fast that way.
Not because you’re gifted—
but because you have to be.
You grow up knowing you’re beyond good enough
and still get rejected.
Beyond good enough
and still unaccepted.
That’s the part that messes with you.
When effort doesn’t equal belonging.
When worth doesn’t guarantee safety.
You start asking the wrong question.
Not am I enough?
But am I too much?
Too present.
Too aware.
Too intense for people who only know how to meet you halfway.
That’s when the voice changes.
Not cruel.
Not loud.
Just firm.
Mr. J. Elahi—
sir.
It’s time to get up.