Somebody told me I would die before I BE something,
Most likely to fry before I Free something,
Most likely to sigh before I See something.
I’m not the one that’s gonna tell you how you should feel,
You may not know my pain but you understand how the sutures feel,
Because when it rains you understand how a roof would feel.
I was born in the Kensington neighborhood of Philadelphia. I was my mother’s third child at the age of 21. Being raised in the 80’s in Philadelphia I was exposed to prevalent drug use and gang activity. The crack epidemic left half of the houses in my neighborhood abandoned. This neighborhood gave very little hope for a future outside of its boundaries. My parents were the first generation of my family to raise their children in the United States.
In an effort to seek the best job he could, my father would drive his bike from Kensington to Cherry Hill, New Jersey every morning. When I sit at a potter’s wheel, I often think of my father’s bike tire spinning, and this metaphor has always had me reach for more. If he could make that sacrifice for my future, it is up to me to make something of it.