Soldiers of The Hood.

Being in the hood has the same similarities of being a soldier in the army. You have to manouver in ways and strategize so you won’t get kilt by the enemy. The tragic part about this is the enemy looks just like you. Same skin. Same hair. Same walk. So who do you trust? You can only trust your men/women. Your platoon. Your round of soldiers in the cold heep of the urban life that every black person has to go through. As a soldier of the hood, you can’t wear clothes similar in color of the enemy. That will get you kilt in the wrong territory. You must know your territories. You can’t be out lost in battle, cause once you step out your home it’s war. For neutral ground, only neutral colors.

You’re a soldier of the hood, you have to have your weapon on you. If the enemy catches you first you’re done for. Always be on your toes in war. As a soldier of the hood.

Stealth is a key factor being a soldier in the hood. You spotted your enemy unaware of their surroundings in your hood. Sitting ducks they are, in a motel parking lot. You go into the offensive, you have 3 targets in the hood. Attire of the enemy, from the opposite side of town. You take the high ground, walk up the back stairs of this motel. Slowly but quickly, not to make a sound. You pull out a device to notify your comrades, 3 enemies, close by, load up ASAP.

As you sit and wait for the Calvary to come, a feeling of eagerness if your enemies leave. You must act now soldier.

Turn left comrade, make sure your weapon is loaded. Back against the wall, your enemy lies on the other side. They’re down the stairs, you take a deep breathe. Turn the corner,

In a blink of an eye,

You start firing your weapon, your enemies, startled, start taking cover. 1 Taking cover behind a vehicle. 2 behind a trash can. You on the second floor of the motel balcony.

Your round of soldiers response to your message, “Rodger that, moving in now”

The Calvary is coming, but you’re low on ammo. You take cover, behind the motel wall.

The enemy sees their chance. They all start drawing their weapons. Their commander says “FIRE”

You are already taking cover and receiving heavy fire. Your men are closing in. 5 minutes out from your location. You are in need of help.

The enemies commander says to one of his soldiers “Go around the back and up the motel stairs, We will cover you” The enemy does as his commander says.

You, still taking cover behind the motel wall, out of ammo, receiving fire from the front. Waiting on your team. You decide, the best alternative strategy right now is to fall back. As you turn to retreat, the silver barrel of a glock 45 pistol is staring you in the face.

You take a deep breathe. The last soldiers breathe. It seems as if time slowed down with this breathe. As if this one breathe could last forever...

A deafening crack of thunder filled the air as he pulled the trigger and a body hits the motel balcony floor.

You sitting there with your eyes closed... you open them.. you see your platoon. Your army. Your gang. On the bottom floor of the motel stairs. Weapons raised. As the comrade who saved your life says, “You’re allright soldier”

He gets you out of there as your team starts retaliating the enemy with gun fire. It is a full blown shootout as they also return fire.

Your ear ringing from the loud gun shots. Your comrade gets you inside the vehicle.

Your team retreats into your vehicles and drive off. The day is won, 1 enemy down, 1 injured.

You’re are now back at base. In your room, alone. Survivors guilt. Flashes of the silver barrel of a pistol staring you in your face and saying... it’s time. The splatter of the blood of the enemy on your face letting you know. You’re alive. Post-traumatic stress disorder. You need someone to talk to. Being a soldier in the hood, therapy is not something that is common. You need something to numb this feeling. Liquor & weed is what we know. A cycle of mental detriment.

You judge the soldiers of the hood, but create the system that isn’t in the favor for the soldiers. Finding a means to survive, finding a sense of brotherhood because of no father ship. Knowing only war, cause it’s what we were raised in.

To break the mental of being a soldier of the hood, you must so call follow what’s appropriate. But what’s the standard ? What actually is appropriate? All the standards are of white level. The bars raised are always to a white standard all the way down to how we speak. Being a soldier of the hood trying to turn a leaf, to receive a job you must change how you speak, it must be proper.. and proper is white.

Why do we have to adapt to the lifestyle of the oppressors while being a soldier in the hood?

How do we concur at a standard of black if the white standard is all we know?

How do we break the curse of being Soldiers of the Hood?