How does one begin to composition themselves to give honor and thanks to parents who would otherwise be deemed unworthy?

I've always known that there is and always has been a struggle in the relationship that I hold with my parents. Of course, the revelation didn't come until I was old enough to truly understand more complicated concepts and the ability to analyze them; yet nonetheless the thought has always been 'why is my family not the image of the great American family I see in the magazine;' 'why is it that I only see my father and my second family only during certain holidays;' 'why does mom work two jobs and leave us kids here at home alone;' 'why is my family not a family.'

The memories of my childhood are few and far in between. I can't say that I recall my three best friends "John, Marcus, and Billy-Joe," because they didn't exist. I don't remember having a large playroom full of toys, and the latest and greatest arcade games, because it didn't exist. Neither can I say that every Christmas I woke to loads upon loads of new things to call my own and revel in joy about, with John, Marcus, and Billy-Joe, because this simply did not exist.

Don't misunderstand, though. I'm not out to make it appear that I had the most awful and disappointing childhood. And frankly, I will be the first to admit that there are plenty upon plenties of millions of grown men and teenage young boys who are locked in cold prison cells, who had much worse experiences than I. But unlike some of them, I was so lucky...rather blessed, to not be raised in a ghetto; my parents weren't led down the hard to kill path of heavy drug usage, or even thievery. I wasn't influenced by the streets and being in a gang is not where I sought refuge. Although, being raised in a single family home with three other kids, there were the typical hard times---scarcity of food, unpaid bills, food-stamp recipient, housing assistance--but it wasn't bad enough to kill me. They say the quickest way to poverty is having children out of wedlock, and my mother had four reasons to be on that waiting list for assistance, four free lunch forms to fill out, and four child support checks to collect, and prayed to God they came through 'cause God knows some of us had some deadbeat daddies. But we made it. I'm not in jail, I'm not on drugs, heroin, speed...all the above. I'm not a Blood, I'm not a Crip. I'm not in somebody's mental asylum. Despite that though, where does the real deficiency lie? Where was I really robbed as an individual? Where wasn't I nurtured?

Not only my mother, but my father---even in his absence (which was no fault of his own)---failed to shape the man I was to inevitably become. They failed me because they never made the time to spend time with me. They never really showed me the evils and goods, the trials and the triumphs of the world. They never guided me in what was acceptable and what was not. Basically, I raised myself. They sustained me in my physical being---keeping me clothed, feed, sheltered---but I made me and the world made me who I am today. When I didn't know the answers to a question, I feed my inclination for knowledge; When I was covered and shadowed by clouds of darkness & depression, sadness and shame, I sheltered my own head. And when I felt naked without a person in the world to seek cover, I clothed my own body. Everything I know and everything I have ever known is from my own experiences, or from the mouths of other people who took the time to educate and love upon little ole' me. Somebody was caring enough, had the heart enough to say "I'm going to show this child." But for the most part I've had to learn from my own mistakes, some of which I still make today.

The education I have is because I pushed myself, I motivated myself to do better and be better than my parents were. I was motivated by what not to do, rather than what to do. I have a hard time not blaming my parents for some of the shit I go through each day of my life. Sometimes I play that "what if" game, which I hate; but how do you not, when everything you aren't is because they are not and did not. I blame them for not being involved in my life---why didn't you ask me how school was, or even if I meant someone "special" at school. I blame them for my lack in talent and for making me an inactive child---why didn't you put me in baseball, football...hell, why not ballet. Maybe I could have been a great pianist, or an all-start athlete. I blame them when I can't express myself because I lack the vocabulary, or the education that I desire because they didn't feed me knowledge at home. I blame for not informing me of the weary and wayward ways of the world. Why wasn't I educated about where I came from, my ancestors, my heritage, the persecution of my people. Why didn't you give me a good sense of pride in being a black man in a white man's world. Hell, because of that I struggled with claiming ownership to who I am and from whom I come! Why didn't you...why didn't you be a real parent, a real mom, a real dad and help make me what I could have become or should have become.

You know, this is somthing that I truly thought I could conquer in a matter of days. But out of all the things in my life right now that I am slowly, but surely gaining confidence and bravery to defeat...this is the one battle that pains me more than any. Don't get me wrong...I'm not depressed, and I'm not stressed. I'm just tryng to do better for myself and for my own life, so that I may have peace, prosperity and so that it may be well with me. But this I can't forgive. And as much as it hurts me to say it, my parents failed me and cursed me; and damnit it ain't so easy to just forgive something or someone that has always hurt you. So, really, how do I let go? I want to forgive badly, but I can't close a grave that somebody is still digging?

About two weeks ago, after a very long and even excruciating period, I made my first steps back into the house of the Lord. It sounds almost simplistic now, but at the time of my departure, I had made my mind up that despite the relationship that I had built with God, I would allow certain distractions...certain ailments to deter the path and even block that path, from the very presence that gives me my survival. Yes...I called myself don' fixed and punished every man that called himself a "Man of God" and every place of worship by convincing myself that because they couldn't bless me with a message that spoke to my heart and because they couldn't render relevance to my life, that I'd be damned if I gave them another red cent. No sooner than I had set myself on that high shelf, then flung my nose in the air, so did the wheels turn and I became the prince of all damned. I learned a hard lesson for my sacrifice.

You see, our God is a selfish yet spiteful God. And I truly believe that because I am a pupil of his being, and because I knew the fundamentals of his word, and because I had taken the holy sacrament of baptism, and furthermore been saved by his blood, that He punished me deeper than those who didn't know Him. I could not reasonably put together a conclusion as to why "this" person has a beautiful home, or the other a fierce sports car that made all the heads turn, or the next, meaningful love...yet I'm left with a hand full of nothing. Usually, I'm not concerned about what other people have. I'm not an envious person and I don't have a jealous bone in my body. Yet and still, it made no sense for me to carry on the word and will of the Holy Master and still not see my blessings reign.

But more importantly, what I've learned despite the misconception, is that we all don't belong to Him. Of course, He loves us all, and has room in His kingdom for every soul. But it is our choices and our reasoning that separate us from His presense. The very man that is head of that lucretive corporation and even has money enough to trash, could have very well sold his soul to darkness because he felt forsaken by He who gave him life. I feel like there in lies the problem of those persons who loose their trust in God. Many of us feel like if we go to church and read the Bible that we'll all be okay. Our expectations of God are set high and we look to Him for miracles. We want what we want, when we want, yet don't realize that for everything there is a price, whether monetary or otherwise, for that which is worldly and everything that is not. I think we not only lack to communicate with God, but too we don't gratify Him enough; we don't thank Him for just being who He is. We form the conception that He is truly an Almighty, but really read into it as he is an All-Willing. He is all willing and ready to give you the things that you want because you feel like you deserve a treat for a good deed. This was me.

I wanted so much from God and I wanted Him to be my All-in-All; yet when I really think about what I was doing to deserve so much, I realize that at that point I had accepted a place that made me not only look small, but feel it. At the time, I thought I had it all right...going to work, paying my bills, helping in the community. But it was the things that I felt wasn't so bad that God wasn't so receptive to...loosely giving myself sexually to anybody who asked, smoking that "good," and reveling in material gods. Sheryl Crow says in her song "if it makes you happy, it can't be that bad." That was one of my best mottos, and I'd tell it to anybody who couldn't figure out if something they were doing was good or bad. But Sheryl, let me tell you something, home girl. There is so much more to it than gratifying yourself. Sure it sounds good, but if Jesus was the self-indulgent man that many of us are today, we wouldn't even be the who of what we think we are.

So, now I praise. For it is a miracle that he has even given me the means to recognize and admit my wrongs. Sure I still struggle with finding myself and shaping myself into a better individual; but in due time I will fully transition into the mold He longs me to be. I still battle everyday with the people in my life, and trying to rid the ones who are no good for me. I still cry when things aren't in reach, and my life spins with no control. But those days are gone of me asking for those things which won't fulfill me. God is my fill. And if He wants me to have, I will have...but I'm not going to push. Now when I pray, I just pray for peace. Peace of mind, peace for patience, peace in love...peace for my soul. If nothing else, I want my peace. Just extend me peace, and e'thang gon' be aight.

My purpose here tonight is to basically make a personal post. But first before I do anything else, I would just like to send out my love and my appreciation to all you Bloggers who stopped in on me, and showed me soooo much love. I have never been "Wow"ed so many times in my life...and it just touched me tremendously how all of you were affected by my post. It brings me so much joy to know that I moved you in the ways you say I did, and I'm also grateful for the inspiring feedback you left. Although I was just being SoFaReal...I thank you anyhow....

...and on to the post...

I've been feelin' this for like the past two weeks, and so while in class today...my sentiments finally hit paper.

(Untitled)

You please me in bounty

Careesing me from my soles to my soul

Filling me whole with no control

Some say I'm insane to be inflamed

By such rapture that makes me weep even when I sleep

though I'm not ashamed to take blame

for the fire that has possessed my desires

Wowed by the sound

of the voice that gets me moist

in places not limited to faces

yet replaces social norms that form

and that arise to demise

the true me that only I see

You keep me when I'm weak

Pick me up when I'm stuck beneath life's muck

And even in times of those inevitable binds

Comfort you make, though never forsake

So this is thanks

A musing of my heart, not the banks

And too a formal plea for the need of the seed

which you plant and renders a pant

and for the consuming affect that starts at the nape of the neck

runs through my pecks, though its not sex.

It's the nature of the sensations

that provides me the inspiration

to announce to those I call my kin

that this pleasure is no sin

but an expression of my inner peace.

The best things in my life are those that i tend to stray away from. No matter how small or great the reward is, I escape the opportunity for challenge everytime. It seems that I expect those gifts not to bring challenge. I prefer to have them work out for me than the other way around, and for this reason, I lack the blessings both to and for life...

It's funny. I describe it as--"the world treating me unkindly" or "struggling from this world I'm thrown." You see, basically, I figure that the key factor to me determining why I currently have so many issues, so much pain, is to look at where I've been (literally), how I've affected it, and who I've been with. It's so hard for me to see the reality that stares me dead in the eyes. But I can't look back. I can't stand the glare of disappointment and disapproval that I would receive, cause I know I've failed. I've brought misery to every positive outlook, good influence, and every desirable deed that I was given. Not worked for...but given. 'Cause it's like when I'm given it, I can't find the means to appreciate it. I can't disciple the differences of something naturally presented to me and from something I create the means to achieve.

My thing is that I am only affected by the surface. I see only what something is literally made of, and not what it is made from. Because if I really took the time to be affected by meaning and by essence, then I wouldn't have the issues that i am having. But I'm weak. I'm incompetent. I'm I'm deterred by reality. I'm so unaffected by any and everything that I dont want to see, don't want to hear, or don't want to feel because I'm fearful that I'll kill everything inside of the emptiness I've already created within myself.

I'm deeply saddened that it took something so monstrous to make me see myself from an outward view looking in. And I'm angry. Im angered at the fact that I have not only poisoned myself, but I've poisoned the relationships that I have with other people and the things that have come into my life. How can I be trusted, how can any person be moved by anything that comes from me when I'm so freaking blind and oblivious.

Let's be so honest...I'm sitting here talking in circle and in rhymes...but I can't be honest with myself. Let's do air some dirty laundry, if you will. My acceptance at the University of Kansas more than 3 years ago was an ultimate opportunity for the change that I deeply longed for. So, I left Texas. I met good people, had joyous times, and made lasting memories. Was I grateful for it? You answer..I'm not there now and haven't been since freshamn year ended 2 and a half years ago. You wanna know the real reason I left...the reason not sugar-coated to suit the approval of other people? It sure as hell wasn't financial reasons and it wasn't because Lawrecne is a small ass, boring ass little town, which I deceived not only others to believe...but hell, I was convinced this was the reason for a while too. The real reason, and the reason that made it all happen was that there were too many white people. There you have it...sounds shady as hell. But I've admitted it for the first time in 3 years that I am a closeted racist who smiles in your face, talk you up, but a real son-of-a-bitch 'cause I'm not affected by your humanistic qualities, cause in my mind I've already ruled you unworthy and insufficient because you're not dark like me.

How I came to this point sometimes is beyond me. White people have always been a friend of mine, and my disposition in race is something fairly new to me. But ever since my first year in college when I learned about the real prejudices of the world and of this country, I sometimes am to the point where if you're not black or dark then don't touch me. See, there's one of two ways that a person can learn to deal with racism, segregation, and other injustices amongst their own race--positively and use that plight of hate as a platform for good social and racial reform amonst the mainstream. Or negatively, like I ashamably have and allow things like stereotypes to affect you personally and begin to denigrate the intergrity and humility of other races. That's basically what has happened to me, as a result of finding my own ethnic identity. I'm not proud of it, but I'm also not ashamed to admitting my faults.

Example two of how I've horribly disgraced my life...Hasaan...Few words---> the...best...thing...that...has...ever...happned...to...me! Plainly said, but not so plainly played out. This dude has showered me with nothing short of infectious love. He praises me, he wooes me, he encourages me, he challenges me, he motivates me, he comforts me, he contents me. It's no question that he loves me probably more than he's loved anyone or anything. He could probably never admit his devotion but I sense it, and I know it's real. I can almost touch it. But when we were together, I didn't know how to handle it. I couldn' accept the fact that someone could adore me with such depth, and that brought so much mystery. He sacrificed so much to be with me, so much to make what we had meaninful, to make it last. Hold up...make it last?Is that even in the "Lifestyle Handbook?" Gay relationships don't sustain anything past an infactuation misguided as love and several great fucks. That's real. So, when I figured he was about real shit, I couldn't deal. I was so accustomed to "boy meets boy; boy bats his eyes at the other boy; then boy fucks boy in other boy's bed," that I devauled the importance of substance. I didn't know how to be in a relationship...all the niggas I'd been with only wanted one thing from me...sex...and so I accepted it as my reality...I had convinced myself that nothing meaningful happens when you're young. Everything was so screwed up between us. I mean, he's always always been under the impression that it was his fault that we failed as a union. But the truth is that I failed him as a lover, as a partner. Unconsciously or subconsciously, I made him what all the other niggas made me...a fuck. I made him my fuck. He became that simple ass nigga that I had so routinely summoned up in the past, during that lonely period of the month where I felt vulnerable, incomplete, and desperate for sexual intimacy. I began to say things that would turn him off from me, to the point where it became normal for us to just fuck, be fucked, and sleep. That's what I wanted from him, and that's what he offered.

And so we got bored with one another, started this consistency of arguments, name calling, and mutual disconnections. I didn't touch him, he didn't touch me. Needless to say, we parted ways, became just friends, then no friends at all, friends again, back to no friends, to friends longing for love...secretely in one another, but both of us being too ashamed to confess for fear of being shattered all over again. I lost him, but now I can't dodge my longing for him all over again. How do you let someone go who loved you so much. Would give you any and everything you desired? Selfish.

I've learned so little from the experiences brought to teach me a lesson. Instead, I favored naivety and disguise to mask me from the things that I feared the most. maturity, aversion of the things I fear won't make me happy, separation of myself from reality, only to live in this perfect illusion I've concocted in my wee little brain. All of this has made me a very selfish person, brought nothing but clouds & heavy rain. I've made a fool of me and disappointed myself. Until I can establish a conception of discipline, acknowledge truth in my own world, and position my life around it, I'll continue to see those same dreary days in this mighty bright land...I need to do some serious soul searchin'...