I'm Free From It


It's funny how things work
I'm from a city that tries to make you forget your worth.
A city full of broken dreams and promises,
Guns ringing off on summer nights,
Because people are too proud to use silencers.
Intelligence rarely matters
It's about how you dress and look
Oh, and you better be tough and have your hands ready
Because you can't walk around Bed­Stuy Brooklyn shook.
But enough about the city in which I was born and how it raised me.
Let's take a look at how it molded, shaped, changed and even hated me.
They didn't appreciate my hair until it grew more and was straight
The only way it could be curly is if it was full of weave, yes that was okay.
Before high school, it wasn't too cool or cute to get good grades
Unless you were sharing answers, but even then it wasn't okay.
I asked myself over and over again "What was wrong with me, and why couldn't I be different?"
And the negativity in my brain would always answer "Everything's wrong, so flip it."
I didn't want to be smart anymore
I was no longer myself
I got angry when placing blades to my skin just did not help.
I knew that what I was doing to myself wasn't a felony nor was it a crime
But at that time I didn't realize that I was just destroying my heart, my soul, my body and my beautiful mind.
I couldn't even walk outside without being judged or stared down by children, adults, men, women, girls
and guys
Some of them really cared about you while others would just say hi
So that they could see my smile one last time
Before they could wipe it off, causing a domino effect of pain inside.
Searching for happiness in all of the wrong places?
No, not really. Not quite.
It was where God placed me, and all the things he made face me.
And I couldn't seem to turn the other cheek and move on
No matter how hard I tried, or cried. The pain would not subside.
I sat in English class, writing stories and poems just about every day.
All types of different topics
Another one, and then another one.
Soon, there was no longer space for all of them to fit in my pockets.
"You have talent" they said but I just smiled and nodded my head politely
I didn't really believe that
So they kept telling me in hopes that I would some day agree
But I didn't
I didn't even think that they could see that
I was just a little Brooklyn girl
Who grew up in the heart of Bed­Stuy
I wasn't overly social, but I spoke when spoken to
I'm far from shy
But as I took a good look at my poems and stories
I swore off that they were fictional
But in reality, they all seemed to represent me
I didn't have to hide behind the bars or shame, hurt and desperation
I could build on the things that were given to me and renovate the parts that were taken
My dreams that were deferred had me shaken up
But only to produce a better me in the making
The pen was definitely mightier than the sword of my past
Because they created all of the characters in my story so that they could represent each side of me.
They represented the dancer, the smiling girl
The head cheerleader, the far from shy girl
The smart girl, the hurt girl
The thinker, the storyteller, the "Do you really like my outfit? Thanks, I wasn't sure if it was too much or
too little" girl
But most importantly the stories represented the "Finally I am free enough to express it" girl
I can look in the mirror and smile, embracing all my scars, marks and imperfections
Perfectly imperfect, not stressing to make the perfect impression.
Not ashamed, scared, nor confused because I am who I am for a reason
Some things may change, but I'll always be the same.
Every day, week, month, year and season.
I can be hear today no matter how many times death tried to chase me
To tell story after story
And it'll all be legit
I can try my best to inspire and encourage others
Because I'm finally free from it!


Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741