I'm back with a sample from "Love in the City"

Hi guys and gals. I hope you guys missed me. I apologize for neglecting the blog for so long. If you follow me on social media then you know that I've been traveling and spreading the word about my books outside of my beloved city. As a single dad, that has always been a challenge for me but now that I have two High School teenagers, it gives me some freedom to travel more. I'll be sharing more samples and blogging about my travels so stay tuned. For now, I'm going to give you a small, raw, unedited sample of another thing that has been chewing up A LOT of my time and kept me from updating the blog, "Love in the City" which is somewhat of a follow up to "Death in the City." For those who've read "Death in the City," you might remember Kahn. (He has a bigger role in this book.)  Enjoy...and as always, leave comments below or email me your feedback if you prefer.

Chapter 7

Lust Conquers All?

T

hrust after thrust of pure lust is what Kahn delivered to his young, nubile lover. Inspired by thoughts of a threesome with Rhi-Rhi that wasn’t going to happen, he pounded poor Cherrie mercilessly for their third round of sex for the evening. She moaned and screamed his name with her legs up on his shoulders. She had been annoyed at first when he hadn’t gone down on her but she was satisfied with the type of hard, deep strokes he gave her instead. She could tell that he wasn’t really reading her body to get a sense of what she liked and just like too many of the lovers she’d had in the past, his own satisfaction seemed to be his sole motivation. She was young and wasn’t hadn’t had as much sexual experience as some but, she had learned quickly that most men had a set way of making love, or having sex, or fucking…whichever term they preferred. (Personally, she had always found it cute when young, inexperienced boys referred to it as boning.) Kahn wasn’t different in that he stuck to his script, sexually speaking. She’d had sex with him a few times before and each time was pretty much more of the same. He pounded away at her like a mindless brute until he eventually came. Fortunately for him, Cherrie liked the way he felt inside her so she didn’t mind, even if she didn’t always have an orgasm. She also thought it was sweet that he always started off missionary with her, even if he didn’t give her oral. She enjoyed looking into his eyes and his long dreadlocks tickled her as his hair brushed against her naked skin. Because of her big, bountiful backside, most of the men she had been with usually liked to bend her over so they could enjoy it. She had a pretty face but she knew that her big butt that was impossible to hide, no matter what she wore or how she tried to cover it, was the reason for most of the cat calls she got as she walked down the street.

Cherrie enjoyed him on top and was flattered by the faces he made as he buried himself in her softest place. She thrust her hips to match his rhythm. She was young but she was still skilled in the art of giving men what they wanted and liked. She used both of her hands to squeeze her own breasts as he watched and the way he smiled let her know that he liked that. She bit her bottom lip and then grit her teeth as he plunged deeper into her sweetness. Then, just when she was about to climax, she felt the all-too familiar, forceful grip of his hand on her hip when he wanted her to flip over so he could take her from behind.

Kahn aggressively turned Cherrie over so he could admire all of her perfect plumpness from behind. He loved the way she arched her back and looked back at him over her shoulder. The mischievous, seductive look in her eye invited him inside so he eased every inch in to oblige her. Slowly, she began to rock back on him. He watched as she rolled her hips and got hypnotized. Before he knew it, he was completely trapped in a trance because of her erotic dance. Even as her love coated his shaft until dick was glistening and slick, her sweet walls gripped him tighter with every stroke. He hoped that he could hold on without finishing too fast. He gripped her waist so that he could control their pace. Otherwise, he might have been done before they even really started. His ego and overall pride just wouldn’t allow that.

“Damn,” he whispered as she began to bounce her ass back on him a little bit faster.

Kahn hadn’t expected her to pick up the pace and even though he firmly held her waist, he realized that Cherrie wanted to take him for ride. He slapped her butt cheek hard and heard her giggle as he watched it jiggle. Her hair was too short for him to grab a proper handful of it so he put his hand firmly on her shoulder instead to roughly pull her back on him. He couldn’t tell if he was in control or if she was but the aggressive way their bodies clashed created a kind of steamy, wet ecstasy that they both enjoyed. Cherrie buried her face in the fluffy pillows to muffle her moans while Kahn tried desperately to hold on. When he couldn’t any longer, he pulled out and exploded all over her soft cheeks.

Cherrie kept her head down and her butt raised up until he was done and completely drained. She almost laughed out loud as she listened to the sounds he made behind her. She couldn’t tell if he was crying or dying. When he finally collapsed on the mattress next to her, she looked at him to make sure he wasn’t dead.

“Good. I thought I killed you,” she said as she curled up next to him and put her hand on his chest.

“Fuck it. When it’s my time to go, I wouldn’t mind goin’ out like THAT,” he joked. “I need a smoke. You want some?” he asked.

“Of course,” she answered.

“Regular cigarette or you wanna roll up some weed?” he asked.

“Psssh. Weed of course,” she giggled. “You know the only reason I some over here and give you all of this good loving is because I like to smoke with you,” she purred and slapped her own ass.

Kahn frowned a little. He wasn’t delusional so he knew that what she said was just a polite way of saying that she fucked him for weed and that was true. He just didn’t particularly care to hear it. Sometimes, lies were just more soothing than sobering truths. She didn’t love him. That much he knew. He didn’t love her either but emotionally, somewhere in that awkward, selfish space in-between his heart and his ego, he wanted her to. He knew it was unfair to want someone to love him when he knew with complete certainty that he would never love her back but he didn’t care. He craved just that and even if it wasn’t true, the lie from her lips would have made him smile. His mother was the last woman he believed had truly loved him but she had passed away years before. He had always a subtle disdain and distrust of women which probably stemmed from the way they had viciously teased him throughout most of his childhood. He wasn’t completely convinced that any of his girlfriends had ever really, truly loved him either. He always found reasons to doubt them, no matter how hard they tried to prove that what they felt for him was real. In the absence of true love, Kahn had always settled for lust. It felt good in the moments he shared with hot women and was physically satisfying, even if it only provided a temporary high. However, that didn’t mean that he wasn’t willing to accept the lie that someone loved him for real.

As he rolled up two joints, one for himself and one for Cherrie, his thoughts randomly landed on his childhood friend Persephone and her husband. To him, what they had was magical, like a modern fairy-tale right out of some romance author’s imagination and even though their love story was soon doomed to end in tragedy, he still believed that just a taste of that was much better than the cold meals he’d been dining on for years. As guarded as his heart might have been, sometimes lust just wasn’t enough.

Copyright © 2017 Keith Kareem Williams

All rights reserved.

I hope you've enjoyed this sample from "Love in the City." I'm working hard to finish it soon...I promise. (You guys know how I am. I can't release it until it's exactly what I want it to be. ) Here is the link if you'd like to pre-order an autographed copy directly from me: Click to Pre-Order "Love in the City" by Keith Kareem Williams

Death in the City - an Excerpt from Part 4 "Hard Words & Harder Goodbyes

I would like to really thank everyone that has ordered copies of "Death in the City." I'm looking forward to reading your reviews when you're finished reading it. For those who haven't read it yet, here's another sample.

4 - Hard Words & Harder Goodbyes

The first half of Nurse Jeanie’s work day went by faster than she expected despite the emergency room being relatively quiet that evening with the exception of a few crying children who were sick with the flu and a few loud confrontations between hospital security guards and homeless men who kept having to be escorted out of the building for loitering. It was freezing outside and they were seeking somewhere to sleep and get warm but the hospital didn’t want them inside the building unless they were there for medical treatment which, by law, they couldn’t deny them. There was also a grumpy, rude, perverted old man suffering from an asthma attack that kept wheezing inappropriate requests directed at the female nurses. He seemed to be obsessed with how their butts looked in their nurse’s uniforms and insisted on telling them, in graphic detail, what he wanted them to let him do to those butts. He was obnoxiously loud but otherwise, the doctors, nurses, orderlies and everyone on duty that night were all appreciative of a not-so-busy night in the E.R. for a change. Everyone seemed to be drowsy and moving at a snail’s pace because of the sleepy vibe that hung in the air like a thick fog.

Jeanie hadn’t brought any food from home so on her break, she decided to buy dinner from the West Indian food truck that was always parked on the side block of the hospital. She loved Jamaican food and they always had delicious, spicy jerk chicken which she happened to have a craving for that evening. She placed her order at the window cut into the side of the truck, then rocked and swayed to the old school reggae that softly poured out of the truck’s speakers. She made pleasant small talk with the chubby owner of the food truck as he prepared her meal but only because it would have seemed rude if she hadn’t. He politely passed her the hot chicken wrapped in aluminum foil and Jeanie smiled at how delicious if smelled. She wished him a pleasant night before she turned away to walk back to the hospital. That’s when she heard a familiar voice behind her.

“Why’d you call me and hang up?” Nate, Jeanie’s ex-husband, asked.

Angry and annoyed by the sound of his voice, Jeanie spun around to face him. The last thing she was in the mood for was an argument with him on the street outside of her job. When she looked at him, she was shocked by his appearance. He had always been a neat, well-groomed man. He cared so much about the way he looked that she often called him pretty, or vain so it was surprising to see him disheveled and un-kept. Even in the shadow that the hood of his sweatshirt cast over his face, she could tell that he hadn’t shaved in weeks. He wasn’t exactly filthy but, his jeans were just dirty enough to let her know that he had been wearing them for some time without washing them.

“What’re you doing here Nate?” she asked.

“I haven’t seen or heard from you in a month and a half. I’ve tried to reach out to you but you won’t take my calls,” he said.

“Because there’s nothing to talk about,” she interrupted.

Nate felt her animosity towards him like a gunshot to his chest but he was determined to keep talking because he had no idea when he would have the chance to speak to, or see her again.

“I was surprised to see your number pop up in my phone yesterday and then I got worried when you just hung up,” he explained.

“I hung up because I didn’t want to talk to you,” she quickly answered.

“But you must have wanted to talk because you dialed my number…unless you called me by mistake,” he said, questioning her sincerity.

“Listen Nate…I had a really rough day and I was having a really hard time sleeping so I dialed your number. I swear, I’m not even sure why I thought it was a good idea to call you but I hung up because I changed my mind,” she explained without sharing the whole truth with him which made her feel bad because she had always believed that selective, deliberate omission was the same as lying.

“Well, what had you shook up enough to reach out to me all of a sudden? In all the years I’ve known you, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you afraid or unsure, or even restless. You’ve always been a woman of faith,” he said.

“Not anymore,” Jeanie answered. “ I gave all that up after our son was taken from us.”

“Well, your faith isn’t the only thing you gave up on after he died,” said Nate.

“He didn’t die! He was killed….and I don’t want to talk about this,” she snapped.

“Why not? Why can’t we talk about our son? Why can’t we talk about us? We were supposed to be there for each other…to get through this. What the fuck happened to our marriage?” Nate yelled so loudly that more than a few people passing by turned their heads to see what was going on.

“Because there’s nothing to talk about!” she shouted and the veins in her neck bulged as she yelled back at the top of her voice.

“Nothing? Twelve years of marriage and you think there’s nothing to talk about?” he asked and grabbed her arm as she tried to walk away from him.

“No…nothing!” she said through gritted teeth as she yanked her arm away from him and continued on her way back to the hospital.

“So…it’s really just that easy for you to throw it all away…to throw me away?” he asked.

Nate’s question made Jeanie turn around and storm right back towards him. His aggressive demand for answers had triggered an anger inside her that she had kept bottled up for so long that it had become more harmful to her heart than her grief. There were things that she needed to say but had avoided saying just to spare Nate’s feelings but now that he had chosen to relentlessly pry, she decided to let him have it all.

“Yes, it WAS that easy. You want to know why I stopped loving you?” she asked while poking her finger in his chest. “I stopped loving you the day you stood up on that podium, in front of all those news cameras, right alongside the police commissioner, calling for peace, asking everyone to stay calm, begging the people who were angry and outraged about what happened to OUR boy not to turn the city upside down. You stood side-by-side, shoulder-to-shoulder with the people who were protecting and defending our son’s murderer. You stood there…asking everyone to protest peacefully and I just stood there with you and let you speak…and I hated you…and I hated myself too. While you were trying to help them save this place, all I wanted was to watch it burn like the hell it is. That’s when I stopped believing in you…stopped loving you. That’s when I stopped believing in everything I was taught about faith…and forgiveness. I have neither one of those things left in me. Do you get it now? Do you understand now? I hope you do. Now…leave me the fuck alone,” she told him coldly before she turned her back on him and started to walk away again.

“I lost a son too. I miss him too. I hurt too!” Nate yelled after her.

“Obviously not as much as I do,” she answered without turning around to look at him.

Copyright © 2016 Keith Kareem Williams

All rights reserved.

Click here to order an autographed copy of "Death in the City."

Writer Wednesday Featuring Imani Wisdom

Good day folks. Welcome to another installment of "Writer Wednesday." Today, let's get to know another very talented writer. Enjoy the interview and please, follow her links and show her some love.

Writer Wednesday Featuring

Imani Wisdom

1. When did you first realize that you wanted to be a writer?

I’ve been wanting to be a writer since I was eight years old. And it was also that time when I penned my first song lyrics. At that time, I didn’t understand the connection of organizing my work or developing character. I just knew, then, I love the feeling of writing.

2. Does writing energize or exhaust you?

Writing my meditation. It relaxes me, but I also love the energy of the craft. That unpredictability of new storylines keep my passion afloat.

3. Do you think someone could be a writer if they don’t feel emotions strongly?

Depending on how you define “writer”, I believe it’s very hard to separate writing from emotions. Before I published my first book, Zion’s Road, I used writing as a form of healing. Back then, I never had an interest of writing professionally. I just knew the pain had inside needed to come out. So, writing, on different levels will have to come from some sort of emotions.

4. If you could tell your younger writing self anything, what would it be?

Persist and never quit, and find a mentor.

5. What was an early experience where you learned that language had power?

Probably when I discovered I enjoyed writing – at eight years old.

6. How many hours a day do you write?

Before I started to working my night job, I wrote early mornings, four to six hours a day. Now, at least once a week.

7. What’s the most difficult thing about writing characters from the opposite sex?

It’s not difficult at all, except when the character calls for a scene conveying their inner-thoughts and feelings.

8. How do you select the names of your characters?

There’s nothing special on how I choose my characters’ names, they just come based on feeling. However, there are a couple of names in my latest novel, The Journey of Ruthie Belle, that are named after two, lost loved-ones. The names fit the characters perfectly.

9. Do you read your book reviews? How do you deal with bad or good ones?

Shortly after I published Zion’s Road, I used to check for reviews every day – perhaps, twice, or more a day. And now, I wait until I get alerts in my inbox. I’m not saying I don’t care for reviews, but I’ve learned to move on from all reviews. Taking reviews to heart – especially the negative ones – can rattle your confidence.

10. What was your hardest scene to write?

In, The Journey of Ruthie Belle, the first scene was, not only difficult to write, but an emotional one because of the graphic detail of domestic violence. I’ve been asked if I would’ve changed anything in the book, I would rewrite the scene without the violence, and the answer to that is no. Without the opening scene, it wouldn’t have conveyed Ruthie’s truth, and how she survived for 80 years.

11. How long on average does it take you to write a book?

On average, three months. But I have written manuscripts in much shorter time, including Zion’s Road, which was three days.

12. Do you believe in writer’s block?

I do, but there’s a way to overcome writer’s block. First, step away from the computer or your notebook and do something else, anything to keep your mind occupied other than characters and plot-lines. Or, freewrite without stopping. Trust me, once you put the words on paper without backtracking, your creative juices will flow.

I do this all the time and it works.

13. What is the most difficult part of your artistic process?

What’s difficult, now, is not being to able whenever I want. I have to carry a small notebook to work whenever I have ideas.

14. Does your family support your career as a writer?

It used to bother me, and now I focus what matters: My art.

http://imaniwisdom.com/

***Booking for Imani Wisdom contact  kisha@divabooksinconline.com***

My Condolences & Apologies

I know it's been TOO long since I updated the blog. I apologize. Promoting "Death in the City" has been taking up all of my time & energy. Anyway, I had a deep conversation with someone that used to be very special to me late last night as snow blanketed my city & it inspired this post. You guys know that I'm not afraid to share.

My Condolences & Apologies

I placed flowers on the grave of, peacefully prayed for and apathetically apologized to the part of my heart that used to love you. I’ve done my best to erase the sensation of your soft lips pressed against mine in those sweet kisses that we used to share. I fight against the feeling of wanting you here, in this bed next to me, with your head on my chest and the tickle of your hair against my chin. I even grew this beard to cover the bare skin on the cheeks that you used to love to touch as you tried to hypnotize and drown me in the depths of desire in your eyes. I’ve brainwashed myself to forget that you were once mine. I walk outside in the rain without an umbrella but still can’t wash away the stain of the pain of choosing you and then losing you. I wear the memory of you like a tattoo.

You saved me when I was dying from another pain of another loss from another time, long before you declared yourself mine. Without you, I couldn’t have moved on. Your heartbeat kept mine strong. Thanks for saving me once upon a time. 

Copyright © 2017 Keith Kareem Williams

All rights reserved.

Check out my Books Here on My Website

Writer Wednesday Featuring Aja LaGrand Blount

Welcome to another installment of "Writer Wednesday" here on my blog. Let's get right into the interview and after reading it, I hope that you're moved to show this week's author some love.

Writer Wednesday Featuring

Author Aja LaGrand Blount

Aja LaGrand Blount

1. When did you first realize that you wanted to be a writer?

First let me thank you for this opportunity. I really appreciate this. I realized I wanted to be writer after I asked myself the serious question of what i wanted to do with my life. I had been in prison going on seven years & I knew I had to change my life. My creative juices started flowing once I began replaying scenarios over in my head. I started jotting down different ideas & once I sat down to begin writing, I fell in love.

2. Does writing energize or exhaust you?

Writing energizes me. It gives me way to release stress, play out emotions or give a piece of me that can be touching.

3. Do you think someone could be a writer if they don’t feel emotions strongly?

Anybody can sit down & write but I believe that to be a great writer you have to give pieces of yourself for it to be authentic.

4. If you could tell your younger writing self anything, what would it be?

The first thing I would tell my younger writer is to not to be afraid to learn, don't follow the trends & read different things to boost vocabulary.

5. What was an early experience where you learned that language had power?

I learned language had power when I used to correspond with people & the effect those letters had on them. I would either run them off or pull them closer to engage more.

6. How many hours a day do you write?

I don't get to write how I used to but I normally would go between two hours to six if could. Currently I get around two hours.

7. What’s the most difficult thing about writing characters from the opposite sex?

I don't see any difficulty writing for opposite sex. I was raised by all females & been around a multitude of feminine personalities so I draw off of that.

8. How do you select the names of your characters?

Most names has been similar to those I know or may have known. Others are random based on personalities of characters.

9. Do you read your book reviews? How do you deal with bad or good ones?

Yes I do read my reviews. Haven't dealt with bad ones yet but I'll let it roll off my shoulder if they pop up. I know I can't satisfy everybody.

10. What was your hardest scene to write?

I would say getting attached to a character & having to do something contrary to what you would like to do.

11. How long on average does it take you to write a book?

On average it takes me 30-45 days to write a rough draft.

12. Do you believe in writer’s block?

No I don't believe in writers block. I have understanding of there being an unlimited supply of creative energy. As long as the brain is rested properly, the juices will flow.

13. What is the most difficult part of your artistic process?

 The most difficult part of creative process would be establishing characters & outline.

14. Does your family support your career as a writer?

Yes, I have a very supportive family behind me. Without them, I wouldn't be a published author today.

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Excerpt from Chapter 3: "Snowfall" - A Sample from "Death in the City" by Keith Kareem Williams

As some of you know...the "Death in the City" is FINALLY done and ALL of the pre-orders have been delivered to the hands of my readers. Now...it's time to start leaking samples. Enjoy!

“I’ve been watching my street cameras while you kept me waiting. I didn’t see your car pull up,” Manuel pointed out while stroking his dark, greasy goatee when Troy walked into his office, escorted by Ernesto.

“That’s because I didn’t drive my regular car today. It’s too conspicuous. Wouldn’t want to get pulled over by any cops while I’m working…and especially not by one of the dirty ones that you probably pay to rob your customers,” Troy answered.

Manuel heard Troy’s accusation but didn’t flinch or appear visibly bothered by it, probably because there was so much truth in it. However, Manuel would never use police officers in the way Troy suggested although he knew of other narcotics distributors who did. He certainly paid certain dirty cops to stay off of his back but he would never trust them to be that entwined in his illegal entanglements. He understood one thing; men who belonged on the right side of the law but had chosen to cross over to the wrong side could be bought but usually, they were also very greedy. Therefore, he kept his dealings with them to a minimum.

“Smart move but pointless my friend. You might as well drive the big boy and enjoy every minute of riding around in luxury. You’re afraid of being too flashy but you might as well be while you’re out here. How do you think the story ends for men like us? You think we make enough money…then get to retire? Maybe invest our money in legit businesses and fade away? No, my friend. Men like us either die quick from bullets, or slow behind bars so you might as will live fast before it’s all over,” said Manuel as he prophesied a bleak future for himself and for Troy as well.

“Reggie didn’t die behind bars or from bullets. He died ugly. Somebody cut him up and tortured him before they ended him,” Troy reminded Manuel who still didn’t flinch. “I’m good at the pace I’m moving now, doing things the way I do them now.”

“So I’ve always noticed…but, today you’re here to buy more than you usually buy. Making one big push and then you’re out huh?” Manuel asked.

“Don’t worry about what I’m doing bro,” Troy answered.

The first thing anyone noticed when they walked into Manuel’s office was the enormous black and white photograph on the wall behind his desk of a nude woman, intimately entwined with a shiny black snake as she lay on her back with her legs spread eagle. The photographer had taken the picture at an angle where he must have been on his knees on the edge of the bed in front of her, almost close enough to perform oral sex on the model. She was clean-shaven, exposing everything from her smooth, plump vagina lips to her swollen clitoris. The thick serpent was coiled around her waist and thighs.

“I wonder if you’re the snake who corrupts or the woman who gets seduced?” Troy asked Manuel as he studied the photograph.

Manuel smiled and didn’t appear offended at all.

“Sometimes, I’m both. I am what I need to be to get what I want. But, it’s all a matter of perspective. Because of all the biblical mythology and silly dogma you people were raised on and force-fed, you always assume that the snake represents corruption…and sin. But, what if it’s the woman who has seduced the snake?” Manuel asked. Then he turned around in his swivel chair to point at the flicking tongue of the snake in the photo. “Look at its tongue and how close it is to that pretty pussy. To me, and looks like that beautiful woman has tempted it to have a taste of that sweetness.”

“That’s an interesting way to look at it. Anyway, I just want to make this quick and get out of here.”

“What’s your rush today hermano. Have a seat, share a drink…relax. My cousin just brought me a few bottles of Brugal from back home,” Manuel said to Troy. A subtle head nod sent his henchman off to fetch the alcohol and shot glasses.

“No thanks,” Troy told Manuel as Ernesto approached them with the bottle of Dominican liquor. “Like I said, I just want to pay for this work and be on my way. It’s snowing heavy outside and I rather be home before the streets get much worse,” he said, holding up his duffel bag of money.

Copyright © 2016 Keith Kareem Williams

All rights reserved.

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Smoke and Snow

Smoke & Snow

This is where I go sometimes when I need to quiet my mind. When I’m the only one here, I can hear my own soul more clearly. I use it as a place in this earthly space where I can momentarily freeze time and escape the exhausting pace of my grind. On this bench, with cigar smoke circling my head, I’ve written many goodbye speeches in my mind…goodbyes to thoughts that were holding me back and stifling my true potential…goodbyes to old, outdated feelings that kept me stuck in place…and goodbyes to people that I knew I would miss but still had to part ways with. There’s just something about THIS spot that allows me to hear the universe more clearly. Maybe there’s a rip in space somewhere or maybe it’s just my overactive imagination but, here in THIS spot, the muses don’t whisper…they sing and dance and inspire me. In THIS spot, I don’t feel cold, even when it’s snowing. 

A Series of Tweets

January 7, 2017 - Another Birthday but THIS one is Special

January 7, 2017

Today is my 41^st birthday. (Yeah, I know I don’t LOOK 41 physically but, tell that to my soul.) This birthday feels special to me for a few reasons. When I look back, at all the friends that I grew up with and I realize how many of them are gone, I feel like I need to live my life to the fullest for them too. I want to do EVERYTHING that they would have wanted to do but never got the chance to. I think about the road I’ve been on and ALL of the bullshit, the muck and the fuckery I’ve had to crawl through to make it this far. I’m sure that there’s more to come but, I’ve made it this far. Life has tried and tested me in ways that have been cruel and wicked. I’m still here though because I’m a fucking savage when I need to be and I never stopped pushing in the direction I want to go…no matter what. I’m more stubborn than anything that has tried to stop me. Don’t get me wrong, there are things that made me despair at different times but that ignorant, insane belief in myself always made me get up, even when maybe some people would have given up.

I feel good. Why? Because I’m happy. Why am I happy? I am happy because nothing bothers me. Human beings don’t surprise me anymore. I accept what I can’t change, about life and also about people. Despite all of the wickedness, spitefulness and shade that has been thrown my way, there’s still more love…for me and around me. I don’t hold grudges and I don’t keep malice. I refuse to use up any space in my chest for that. I only have one (maybe two now) grey hairs in my beard because I NEVER worry…about anything. I just don’t stress. Things happen the way they’re supposed to. I accept that. I fight for the things in life that I want and I get what is meant for me. Nothing can stop that. I help people who need my help when I can. That makes me happy too. Sometimes a little love is all someone needs to get them through a dark time. There’s nothing wrong with giving them that…and they don’t owe me for the rest of their lives because of it. The more people you can make smile is the brighter the light around your own life will be. A lot of people should learn that.

I’m happy that I woke up this morning. (You still won’t see me smiling in pictures though Lol)

To everyone that I’ve ever met or been in contact with in life…I want to thank you ALL for being a part of this journey that I’m on. I appreciate every one of you…for the love…the bullshit at times and the lessons I learned from every one of you. You ALL helped shape me into what I am and here I stand. There’s nothing I would change and if I could come back and live again, I’d come back in this same skin, with this same face and with this same soul. Thanks for loving who I am. Thanks for not making it always easy for me because I learned how to cope with everything and anything that comes my way. Even the negativity drives me in the direction I need to go.  Because of you, I’m a father, an author and a man. Thank you. If you’re STILL here, in my life, stick around for a little bit longer and I promise to show you something amazing. I’m closer to my dreams so watch what I do next.