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Poem: "Diary Of The Reformed"
Poet: Will Da~Real One Bell
Its 3 o clock in the morning and I get a phone call from my lil cousin talking about he just got shot at.
And the first thing goes through my mind is why every time a nigga gets to stick his head out from the muddy waters of life, is his street loyalty requested?
I mean its not like gun play for me was ever subconsciously manifested,
or maybe it was.
Maybe that's why at 3am he decided to call big cuz.
Because three years ago my motto was, shoot first and ask questions later.
And almost if I was on autopilot I got dressed put on the bulletproof vest and flexed.
Stuck some Scar Face in my cd changer to channel my anger
because everybody knows that a soft heart don't squeeze triggers.
Click the cd changer and went to Iconz "fuck them other niggers"
and by the time I reached 54th street it was on.
It seems like just 3 hrs ago I was trying to change the world through one of my poems
and shit just fast forwarded to a do or die situation.
My destination, was three blocks pass the metro rail station,
blue house on the corner.
But tonight I sense that I really have something to lose.
And maybe it all went down at Piper High School when young lady walked up and said she wish her brother turns out like me.
Or maybe it was at North Miami high in Ms. Blues class when they studied my poetry for black history.
Or could it be a letter from an inmate in Raeford penitentiary stating that through my poetry he can now be free.
But now I'm sitting here in this truck with this fully loaded glock just to represent the man in me?
But tonight some way, some how, this has to stop.
Because in about 3 or 4 minutes we finna yellow tape off this whole motherfucking block
and I'm wondering like how did I transform from righteous to crazy, asking myself questions like do I really want to take part in another mother screaming "Oh God not my baby"!
And I understand you feel like you've been done wrong,
but just tell me exactly how many, how long
will we continue to die slow deaths in our minds
and have our life be defined by how many niggas we put into chalk lines?
See way before there was black on black crime.
There was black on black lying.
So let me break this shit down for you in my black on black rhyme.
Because we made ourselves believe that we didn't need each other,
but how many times have you been in an all white situation and was so fucking glad just to see another brother?
See that feeling needs to go from the boardroom to the street,
And please don't misconstrue these words for you that I speak,
but nigga me not wanting to kill you don't make me weak.
What makes me weak is not having the balls enough to tell you that in spite of your actions ...
I still love you.
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