Tracing Nas

“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.

Working With My Breath

“Craft begins where comfort ends.”

2Pac—mature.

Now I’m working with my breath.

Developed from sleeping on the floor,

reading with the book on my chest.

Pallets were plush,

but this notebook had me in a lex,

a plane—

a place I live in today.

No friends.

No shame.

So shameless.

Putting everything in frame

from what I’ve seen.

Extraordinary—they call me Jhust.

That’s how they labeled me.

That nigga crazy.

Little did they know

I’m insanely passionate

about crafting this caption

with power.

On Purpose

“Silence sharpens what noise dulls.”

Sophisticated and rude—

this is how I talk.

I don’t have an attitude.

I stay on mute,

observing how everybody move.

I’m on point

on purpose.

Mug meant.

Stance straight.

Militant with intent.

Don’t bet on your hands.

Your mans late.

Though I’m in my head,

it could get gingerbread

in a second.

Mask off—

these the ones who be stepping.

If writing was a weapon,

I would’ve outlived

a hundred sentences.

Heavy Now

“Weight teaches what speed never could.”

I come off intimidating.

My passion flows like menstruation.

Complex Simplicity!

I value patience.

I’m ready now — why wait?

I’m heavy now.

My fate.

Holding this heavy world,

my shoulders ache.

My imaginary wings grew to my shins.

SHEIN is not the brand I walk in.

Not much into fashion or talking.

I’m a gala dresser.

College professor.

Malcolm X in black sweaters.

Hood —

but when I’m good,

I relax better.

Definitions

“Some answers arrive through endurance.”

— J. Elahi

The only friend I have

is this pen.

When nobody’s phone is working,

I’m writing

until my hand starts hurting.

I don’t have all the answers—

but I know the definitions.

Everlasting

“Not everything needs power when it already holds memory.”

— J. Elahi

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.

Beyond Impressions

“Connection outlives attention.”

— J. Elahi

I’m proving what’s possible—

and that’s connection.

We’re too impressed with impressions.

Communication matters.

These people are already famous.

It’s time to get our shine.

The Inkwell

“Every line holds weight once it’s stained.”

— J. Elahi

My notebook is an inkwell.

When a tear hits the page,

the ink stains.

The paper swells.

Lines solid.

I always hated college rules.

I used grids instead—

so I could break it down

like astrophysics.

Influence

“This didn’t fix me.
It gave shape to thoughts I was already living.”

— J. Elahi

This didn’t fix me.

It gave shape to thoughts I was already carrying.

Until We Start

“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.

Assertive Flaws

“Clarity doesn’t need volume.
It needs intention.”

Pardon my etiquette.

I have assertive flaws.

Too busy getting ready

for the world’s next war.

I’m not for sure.

They said the world ended yesterday—

I’ve been here forty-four years

and a handful of days.

Washed-down conditions.

Extracted back to neutral stimulus

as I continue—

I insist on diligence.

I enunciate

so I don’t sound oblivious

to what I’m saying.

The Subconscious Library

“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.

Should Have

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.

Lines

Life is like a run-on sentence.

We don’t have time to pause.

Period.

Longevity

I want my scriptures to sing—

not loudly,

but with the discipline of a choir

that practiced long before it was heard.

I want the work to outlive me.

Not my name.

The work.

I’m not aiming for fans.

Crowds disappear.

I’m aiming for a seat—

with the scholar,

the professor,

the literature that gets studied

instead of skimmed.

Where psychology meets autonomy.

Where biology explains behavior.

Where creative writing isn’t decoration,

but evidence.

That kind of table doesn’t invite noise.

It invites patience.

So I write with care.

I revise with intention.

I learn what came before me

so I don’t mistake repetition for originality.

This isn’t confidence borrowed from applause.

This is commitment.

I got this.

Negative Return

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.

In My Own Lane

The greatest minds don’t always have the greatest lives.

That used to confuse me.

You’d think intelligence would solve itself—

that thinking deeply enough would lead to comfort, clarity, or at least peace.

But it doesn’t work like that.

The goal moves every time you get closer.

Each answer opens another question.

Each step forward changes the ground beneath your feet.

That’s when I stopped pretending I was meant to arrive.

I’m not a preacher.

I’m not a saint.

I don’t live well enough for that kind of title.

What I do know is this:

I can’t survive on what people think of me.

Approval runs out.

Opinions shift.

And applause has never paid the cost of being yourself.

So I stopped explaining.

I’m different—

not loudly,

not theatrically—

just in the way I move through ideas, through silence, through choice.

And I’m confident in that difference.

Not because it’s admired,

but because it’s mine.

A great mind doesn’t need a crowd.

It needs a lane.