When the Pen Hits the Paper..

Awwwwww shhhhhhh…

This is a reality rap.. Yeah, I’m a rapper right now.. No bars, no hooks.. No beats, no soundtracks.. Just a reintroduction.. Our prophets are now supposed to be those wearing fake chains and having the hottest looking asian-influenced woman on our arm.. Well, picture me as just that, because I have a lot on my mind that I have to get off.. I’m the mad rapper.. I’m the hip-hop professor.. Sorry Michael Eric Dyson.. You owe me anyway..

Life has been crazy.. Too crazy.. From the bottom to the top, and back down to the bottom.. Then back to the top.. My rap moniker is now Phoenix.. And that has so many subliminal messages to it that it should be part of the Wu-Tang Clan.. Y’all will catch that in 2020.. Life hasn’t been easy.. Some days I’m Shawn Carter, other days I’m Jay-Z.. Some days I’m Shawn Carter from 1992, which means that on those days I have nothing.. My worth on those days are defined like a 18 year old McDonald’s All-American.. It’s all based on potential.. Realized potential, if that makes sense.. On those days, on the inside I feel like an allusion of myself.. On those days, on the outside I am exactly who everyone expects me to be..

The reality hits.. The best-of albums.. The mixtape massacres.. It's all there.. Some get released, some get tabled.. But let's get back to the reality hits..

And this is tough.. Discussing reality when no one really buys that reality.. The reality is that everybody is struggling.. The reality is that my own expectations are higher than your expectations of me.. The reality is that no one will allow me to talk “nonsense”.. Meaning, no one wants to hear me talk about dwindling marketing accounts, broke professional athletes, and artists that need much more than they actually realize.. I’m not talking about my own, either.. I’m talking about the way it is.. My bad, I mean, no one wants to hear me rapping about my mother's ills, my sister's struggles, or my own personal demons.. My biggest obstacle is my own success.. And I have nothing or no one to blame for that.. I craved it.. I desired it.. I embodied it.. On some days, I fed it.. Beyonce’s “Ego” song might be part of my issue.. On some level, ego plays into it.. Never letting them see you sweat.. Never painting the whole picture.. Never saying never..

I’m not sure that’s my problem, though.. I’m not sure what the problem is on most days.. Some days I look up to the sky and ask why.. Other days I look up to the sky and scream “**** the world, don’t ask me for ****”.. Am I talking to God? Why wouldn’t i? Some days I look down below and ask would it be worse down there? Other days I look down below and realize that down below is just a mirror reflection of my life.. Hell is no different from the present.. At least that’s what I feel on those days..

But then I have to snap out of it, and smile for my family.. Smile for my clients.. Smile for my fans.. You know, the ones that are no longer buying my album.. Work hard for everyone, but myself.. I can’t be working hard for myself and still be feeling like this.. I don’t question the Lord.. That’s not my style.. My bad, not my steez.. It just can’t be.. I can’t allow that.. Knaa’mean?! I might be blocking my blessings.. Knaa’mean?? My rap alter-ego wants to scream “Bless Deez”.. My phone is always buzzing.. Another hand out.. Someone else’s and mine.. Cuz when I put my hand back in my pocket, all I feel is lint.. That’s the reality.. Money comes in and goes right back out.. Sometimes money comes in, and it gets jacked.. Bills, bills, and more bills.. Sometimes my days are like hearing Destiny’s Child play on repeat.. Same song, different day.. But the tape won’t pop.. When I take it out, I realize that the tape is indestructible.. It’s wild..

I help more than I harm.. I help more than I harm.. I help more than I harm.. So why can’t I get help?? Why is no one listening? Ok, let me take that back.. I get help.. I get bailed out.. But even that bailout comes w/ steep consequences, and recently those consequences come in the form of what feels like a loan shark.. When I think the coast is clear, I walk out and there is a spotlight on me.. Can you hear the violins playing??

All I know is that it gotta change.. Quickly.. Or I’m leaving the game.. On some Ready to Die ish.. I can’t deal w/ these rap dudes no more.. No promoters.. No labels.. Nothing.. I’m giving it one final shot.. And I’m hoping it will not be like MJ’s last shot or even Hov’s.. Just Q..