Some say I should write more, others say I should fight more, should I write about fighting…more? Should my writing include the fighting of my ancestors fourscore and seven years ago…that sound byte is what kept us bound tight to the lies of folklore I endured years before.

My writing is like lightning striking the page — coming of age twice in my life — I found myself inciting the rage — of suppressed thoughts and injustices handcuffed with priors drowned in malt beverages — but now I leverage — insight — with a pen to avoid the pen — filling a void within — observing the toying of men as if this were a game.

I’ve been told I should fight instead of writing back but my right to click clack might get me set back — it ain’t for me — it’s plain to see that fighting must be approached…carefully. I’m prepared to see — the day that writing about fighting — is taken as seriously as igniting a structure fire — with kerosene. I remain aligned with the Almighty — I have no fear and He — keeps inspiring Me — to keep writing — fearlessly.

I’ve been told it’s me but then…what about them? Can I condemn — that which I reject — in the hearts of men — that seek hate — my fate lay in a crosshair — because of my nappy hair? I heard all lives matter but do all blue lives care?

They say I should write more but less inciting scores of the scars of torn feelings born from civil wars. My right to write IS my fight — on a battlefield ink stained with stories of plight and determination — ripe with micro aggressions and segregation…still I feel…my fight is what I make it…my right?..is how I take it.