This past Sunday, I was lying in my bed and realized I didn't have shit to do. I didn't have to take a shower, I didn't even have to eat if I didn't want to. I got hungry about 6pm, and that's when I got out of bed.

My mind was at ease... it was so at ease, the only thing stressing me was the fact that I was so at ease. This is the first time in as long as I can remember that there is absolutely no drama in my life. I spent my teens pretty much leading a double life, hiding shit, ashamed because I didn't want to get kicked out of church and disappoint my grandmother. The last few years it's been drama with my son's mother over the almighty $. All the while I've stayed on my grind and I'm scared to say it, but it looks like the shit is actually starting to pay off.

My son's mom is getting paid so she's quite (fuck her and fuck the judge), and although it saddens me to know my grandmother will never accept the choices I've made as far as church, I've chosen my path, and I can proudly say my life is an open book. I ain't got shit to hide.
Sometime ago I began to go against everything and everyone I knew. I'm sure a lot of people thought I was crazy (they were right), but I had a plan the whole time: follow my heart. Over time I found it was easier to forgive myself for fucking up on my own, rather than it was for fucking up because I listened to what someone else told me to do. Live and learn: "Right or wrong/ life go on/ but it wasn't nothing fake. (ali)"

So now I ask myself, what do I have to deal with? What bullshit do I have to deal with today? Nothing comes to mind. I can't think of one thing that is a threat to my peace and security. And it feels weird. It's as if my sole inspiration over the last few years was the pain, the heartache- the struggle. I used to ask myself whether or not there's such a thing as an inner peace and security. I'd grown accustomed to feeling like shit. And it came through in my writing. I'd feel like I was bleeding to death inside. I'd let it run on the paper. I couldn't write about shit except for pain. Yesterday I sat down to write and all that came out was:

"I never meant to romanticize the shit
I just wanted to show you a picture of my vision"

That's it! I couldn't think about shit else to write. I've spent the last few years writing about the shit that bothered me, and now that nothings really bothering me I don't have shit to write about. Could it be writer's block?

At this point, the idea of having writer's block doesn't even bother me. In October I'll start my first Quarter (haha fuck a SMC semester) at Antioch University majoring in Creative Writing. Let me say that again, not business, not journalism, but CREATIVE WRITING. I'm going to spend the next two years studying writing and writing. I'll have no choice but to write. I feel like I'm in a mental space where I see more than just the pain, and I can't wait to explore that.

Right now I feel like I'm in a race, and the bullshit moving out of my peripheral andalmost behind me. Like I said, I used to wonder whether there is such a thing as inner peace and security... I've had a taste and it's foreign, but I can get used to it. Slowing up my pace isn't even an option, I'm just catching my stride.