FRO 14 DFA

I don’t know what to make of the first semester, because it is such a minuscule sample size of what college has to hold. I have been through extreme highs and lows in college, nevertheless I never lost sight of my goals that I continue to strive for. I have began to discover things about myself and really penetrate the things I have taken interest in, discovering what my purpose is when I step to school every morning. At first, I felt like Baruch was the wrong decision for me, not being challenged and mentally prepared to compete with schools like NYU or Columbia, but I am beginning to feel like maybe this is where I belong. This is the place I have to start in order to finish on top. It isn’t like I was rejected from NYU, I just had the option of choosing between endless loans or cheaper education at a lesser praised institution. Through the newspaper and my creative writing I feel that I have been able to channel energy that I never grasped back in high school, and I am deviously developing the skills I need to succeed. I could have easily been in the same courses with the same crop of students at Stern, but I feel as though I will find the right people at Baruch because there are students out there just like me, oozing with brilliance and ambition, and smart enough to realize that college does not create the person, but instead it’s the person who maximizes the opportunity of any situation/institution in order to create themselves. I have made plenty of sacrifices choosing Baruch, and in due time, they will pay off. This first semester is just a teaser of my potential and I look to throttle to the remainder of my time here just like I did with this first semester.

How can I define myself when I’m too busy living?
I’ve asked myself at nausea,
Conscious of my exhaustion,
Because I’m overworked,
And I’m overlooked because my parents don’t care how hard I work,
It’s the work I don’t do that they make remarks over,
I’m a car, and my mind is parked,
And my front tire is flat,
My windshield was ripped off,
And my rear window flipped forward,
I can’t see behind me, and I can’t wipe the obstacles,
And reaching my goals become impossible,
I don’t know who I am, but I see where I’m going, and I stop and think who am I?
But I don’t know cause I’m in the moment, electrified by the outspoken,
Because their minds are enraged by the warrant of fear and humility,
So they tranquil there stability and sleep on their thoughts,
And I’m a radio that speaks when all is lost,
Flourishing with channels at the cost of my sanity,
So my thoughts are spread in a mix,
Linked to the diversity of my life,
I don’t know who the fuck I am, but I keep moving because I’m busy living,
I’m a tree, and she was not,
But she connected with my thoughts and I found myself through her ambition,
And together we were unstoppable,
And I was invincible, but she left, and
I was invisible, cause I’m just a fucking tree, and I have nowhere to go, while she’s off on her rodeo around the world, and I sit and I think who am I? Because I’m tired of my endless tries when love is lost and I ask myself why! But I have no idea because I’m too busy living,
I’m a honey badger, I’m not scared,
I’ll suck the poison out of death,
And feed off of its meat, then thrive in the jungle, standing tall on two feet,
I can’t die because I have too much to do,
No time to sit around and think about you,
I’ve got a better connection that inflates my sensation until my mind is more like an animation,
So unrealistic but so true,
Who am I? I have no clue,
I’m a balloon, filled with confidence,
Floating high above my beautiful siblings who smile and chant my name to play
And I’m tossed and popped and inflated again, with messages of precedents that I must set, Afraid of going too high into the clouds but, but maybe that is where I belong,
As they let me free unaware that I’ll just keep flying if they don’t hold on, and I float and I ask who am I?
I have no clue,
I know I am someone, but I can never define him,
Because I am too busy living.

Songs that Illustrate the Person I am

PLAYLIST

J-Dilla Light Works

J. Cole LAnd of the Snakes

Drake The Search

Drake Say What’s Real

Childish Gambino Flight of the Navigators

Jay-Z Song Cry

The Black Keys Little Black Submarines

Arctic Monkeys Your’e So Dark

Ab-Soul & Kendrick Lamar Illuminate

Nas One Mic

My life is defined through the scope of my images and poetry.

Food for Thought

An apple a day keeps the doctor away,

Well a poem a day keeps the therapist away,

Throw words on a paper and build stocks,

Make it flock till it flies, and add a side of fries,

To the irregularity of the mind that yearns for props,

Props that create a masterful performance in the parietal lobe of the brain which stimulates my awareness and colors my perception,

Add a jingle and make it rhyme,

Till your cerebellum is soaked in the venom of the tune to your lyric and your momentum is sped up by the way your tongue twists and spits to the rhythm of my words,

Words that carry no meaning alone,

But together they create a partnership,

But together they create a mob,

But together they create an army,

And it keeps growing and growing your frontal lobe can no longer solve problems and the only concentration in the matrix of your brain is the prosperousness in the richness and thickness of the words that splurged together to make an impact,

They only way I really know how to stay intact,

Start a post-modern movement with no punctuation,

or create a post era to that post terror and obliterate the paper with a rising fluctuation of punctuation,

then let the vibration of this abstraction hydrate the nation,

It does not matter how you surveillance the order of your words as long as the cadence of your words knocks the patience of my sword that slices through the fruition of this college tuition that my mind has absorbed,

The cadence must make my nose smell the fragrance of the roses that died on September 18, 2001.

A week after a tragedy where we wanted to bring life back, but these roses demonstrated the cycle that life’s black,

And we can’t revive a shade, but we can color a tune if we unite as a whole and in this hole my words purge on your soul,

Because I was pulled out of kindergarden without knowing I would not be back for a month,

Yet I haven’t ate an apple in three months,

But my words spark fear into the evil that cannot stop when I strive,

Because Poetry..

That’s the shit that keeps me alive.