Killin' Them Softly

“Some people try to bury you. Even the ones that’s closest”

I was a young nigga.

She was getting money from her ol’ man

just to buy me Timbs.

My granny said, stay out of that yard—

that’s not the yard you play in.

She was strict.

I was undisciplined.

Hearing shots bust,

hooping out windows, trying to catch the Papi bus.

I saw Poppy once. (Poppy my nigga)

And to those other niggas that told,

and hated,

that tried to ruin my reputation—

for my losses,

for all my time wasting,

I appreciate you.

You made me better

than I could ever be.

This ain’t no thank you.

This is an apology.

Because you saw something

you won’t ever be.

And how could you fathom

a nigga like me—

doing, becoming, growing,

and living better than you?

Huh?

Never, right?

Never in a million years.

Right?

I apologize.

Heart Numb

“Some habits begin as shields.”

I would drink

until my heart was numb,

until the feeling

wasn’t recognizable.

I had to stay drunk

to keep up with

the rest of them.

Not knowing

how it feels

when she’s the only thing

that makes you want

to breathe.

In a dream,

doing robberies.

My heart

was harder than me.

Empty your pockets.

Lemme see.

Survival of the fittest.

Mobb Deep.

Never Change

“Some advice survives by being tested.”

Taz told me

to never change.

When he died,

I adapted his pain.

Young Jedi,

moving like the redeye,

selling packs in a day.

Armor-detta—

the delta of it,

of the whole thing.

Sitting in Teterboro

in my class,

watching planes.

Money and cash—

we played it fast.

became a thing.

Then my brother

started selling crack.

We legends

to this day.

Night Work

“Need repeats itself until it’s answered.”

My fucking street life—

where at night

we do our own.

Fuck broke.

We gotta get that dough.

We gotta get that dough.

We gotta get that dough.

Wild Youngins

“They weren’t born reckless—recklessness was what the world handed them.”

My wild youngins

kidnap niggas,

throw them in garbage cans

or bushes somewhere.

I’m scared of them too.

They come smiling like portraits,

styles like comic books—

laughing, haha and shit.

Fuck the night—

in the daytime

it get wild as shit.

You ever seen a nigga run someone down,

pistol pointed at a target,

missing every shot—

and the bullets stray

until somebody else gets hit?

I can’t explain it.

This reality—

not GTA shit.

“Fuck who’s the baddest.” — AZ

To them wild youngins—

thuggish, ruggish—

a time will come

when you remember

and realize how far you made it.

You were created by choice,

defined to exceed any dream you wish—

without getting trapped in it.

A drill makes holes.

Why be destructive

when you can be creative?

Don’t be desperate for friends.

It’s legendary—

most niggas who come up

get killed by who they’re with,

not who they’re against.

That shit is strange.

I had to learn one day.

Ain’t nothing safe

when the wild youngins

come out to play.

You Don’t Really Know

Sweating in my sleep,

fighting demons.

My past keeps catching up to me.

All I feel is scratches and heat—

they grabbing at my feet.

Then I wake up soaked,

to the point

I gotta take a shower

and change my clothes.

You don’t really know.

Civil

Prologue

An alternate history where land, labor, and legacy are rewritten.

Civil.

Andrew Johnson—

unfortunately—

did not pardon the South.

Considered them enemies

to the Union.

All their possessions

must be fortified

and given back to the land—

to the croppers.

The administration amends it:

forty acres and a mule.

God bless America.

And God bless you.

When the people in the South heard,

they couldn’t believe their ears.

All these pastures.

All these children.

All these years.

Our great-greats were born here

and buried right there.

They said,

“So the whites are slaves now?”

“No.

It means they got no land.

And they gotta work—

just like us.”

“Well shit.

Damn.

Just like that?”

“If the president said it,

then yeah, I guess.”

“So this our land?”

“Yes.”

“Well shit.”

To be continued.