I came home from prison

I look at my closet to see

what I had to wear

I am a New Yorker and the

streets can be brutal and

we all know New Yorker’s are RUDE

it is a culture thing…

My closet had old hooker clothes

on the right and thug gear

on the left… my two identities

that lasted over 25 years

the clothes to sell your soul

by selling your body and

then the tough-guy clothes to

put on my other mask to go and

buy the drugs to make the pain

go away and to be comfortably


The problem was those masks

were stripped away from me

and it was my saving grace

because I did not have the

strength to face change and

find out who I really was

Now I love living a corny, square life

where I go home and watch NETFLIX

I might not know exactly who I am yet

because I had been living a lie

I dont want that toxic energy anymore

May I introduce myself to myself

without the aid of drugs as a crutch



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