Angol
With no father around, I grew up a bastard child with a single struggling mother. The castaway of my family, the rejected one, the unsupported. Nobody ever gave me nothin'. Yet, I grew up anyway with this wonderful writing talent God blessed me with. At 24 years old, in 1994, I only had 6 pairs of pants. I guess you could call me a bum. My family sure did. I was down on my luck back then, and just when I thought it couldn't get worse, I was kicked when I was down. I've been a loser, a failure, all my life. People always shitted on me. My life's full of stains, of shit.
I used to live in Harlem, New York. I hung out and lived in Harlem, and I also hung out in Brownsville, Brooklyn. I rolled with drug dealers, hung with killers-yeah, killers with guns on 'em. I also messed around with a crazy crack addict chick. She put me through the worst two years of my life. Thank God we're not together anymore as of 2021. But neither she nor her crew could sway me or lure me in. I'm a real fuckin' nigger, not some sellout fake-ass one. I'm street smart, learned that an educated person can't outsmart someone from the streets who's quick to pull the trigger, that's what I figured. You get the picture-I used to walk and hang with the low-life grave diggers.
I'm a witness to racism in this life. I'm a witness to feeling like I'm missing something in this life, 'cause my life's still incomplete. I'm a witness to poverty and struggles in this life, to the sadness and madness of it all. I'm a witness to all the pain and strain, almost going insane in the membrane of this life. I'm a witness to all the downs and downfalls, all the sins. I carried a fake grin, pretended to have a life. But truth is, I never knew life, never ever had it. I'm a witness to having a happy life robbed from me, like a thief in the night.
To all my readers riding on this train of pain, I hope things pick up and change for you soon. I hope you now understand "The Nigger from the Black Lagoon."
Thanks for reading.
