Through the Smoke

AND THROUGH THE SMOKE I REACH OUT TO SLAP YOU WITH MY HAND!

And mine aren’t filthy!

I want to share some of the contexts in my writing, mainly to help you understand how I interpret my experiences without exposing anyone. I want you, as the reader, to feel the emotion I am trying to convey. At that time, I felt an amazing sensation-yes, RAGE- RAGE-that gave me a thirst for blood, especially toward this individual. However, I used this rage to fuel my success, teaching me which path not to take. I choose to use my mind instead of succumbing to ignorance. Throughout my writing, you will start to see the back stories surface. And at that moment in time I was in a place amoungst other individuals and most of them I've personally studied with and read a great deal of books. One of those persons introduced me to a poem that was written by a fellow.

"I AM THE MASTER OF MY FATE, I AM THE CAPTAIN OF MY SOUL."

Yeah, words to live by right? But let's be real and not with anyone just yourself. That is something of a myth to you, right?

Picture this, this poem was written on a piece of paper in ink at the time I csme into possession of it. Back then if something was important to you you wrote it down yourself. So this, was priceless by all means.

INVICTUS... IN THE FELL CLUTCH OF CIRCUMSTANCE.

I HAVE NOT WINCED OR CRIED ALOUD.

UNDER THE BLUDGEONINGS OF CHANCE,

MY HEAD IS BLOODY, BUT UNBOWED!

A poem by William Ernest Henley.

A poem on a piece of paper that I have yet to forget. Perhaps for good reason too!?...

Maybe? Maybe because it hits home for me? I don't know?

IT MATTERS NOT HOW STRAIT THE GATE.

HOW CHARGED WITH PUNISHMENTS THE SCROLL,...

It started with a smiley face on a piece of paper.

No words. No signature. Just that little curve of ink left where no one was supposed to care.

At the time, my thoughts were clouded by the sheer lack of respect.

RTS—Return to Sender. That’s where I was headed.

No address. No answer. Just the silence of rejection wrapped in an envelope.

But before it made its way back—KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

“Who is it?”

It’s…The 𝓶𝓸𝓫...

(silence)

The silence in the darkness.

I’m Disgusted…

Now the darkness wraps its ugly, filthy hand around me.

Not to hold—but to choke!

(Out of their desperation!)

To remind me where I stood in their world: unseen, unheard, uninvited.

And then came the voice: A voice that makes you want to…BANG!

Why? Because I didn’t like the way his smug face looked!

“You can always disappear. Include your family if you want—haha—because I’m the one that loves to make families disappear.”

Rage filled my heart. The kind that rises from the gut.The kind that smells blood in the air.The kind you feel when you smell something good and give in.

That craving for a kill!Pure. Ancient. Terrifying. Real.

But I didn’t strike. Because that’s what they wanted, they wanted me to become the monster in their smoke.

So I disappeared from their game. But not from this world.

So I heard one say “ ℊ𝒾𝓋ℯ 𝓉ℴ 𝒞𝒶ℯ𝓈𝒶𝓇 𝓌𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒷ℯ𝓁ℴ𝓃ℊ𝓈 𝓉ℴ 𝒞𝒶ℯ𝓈𝒶𝓇!"

So, Caesar created currency with his gold and the gold he accumulated.

Your filthy little hands only wish you created currency! Yet you still use Benjamin‘s!

Let’s make it make sense!

Now I plant. I raise. I speak. I return nothing. I became everything they never expected:

Whole.

Through the smoke—I reclaimed myself!

—Mr. Blackwood