"Promise me this...don't tell nobody...I can't get in that car man, I stink..."

I don't like the way I live my life. The bestie pointed out that my blogs have begun to be about a boy...that boy. And tonight's blog could've been about him too. I invited him to share in an experience with me and he forgot. He didn't attend. It was still an experience in itself.

Real Poetry is the monthly open mic that I've been attending since age 15. It's hosted by Christopher Slaughter and attended by famous and famous by word of mouth underground poets, people, and more of the like. "Tonight was special" Slaughter said.

After a great show, most of which I missed, and an interesting boule session afterwards, a young man approached Slaughter on the side. He spoke of his crack addicted mother who was presently shooting up. He spoke of how hungry he was, he hadn't eaten in two days. He spoke of how much he stunk...he couldn't get in a car full of women. He spoke of how all he wanted was to reach his grandmother uptown. And Slaughter in all his glory anfd generosity just wanted to help him. He did. Placed him in a cab with 10 dollars in his pocket, a new phone number in his hand, and hope in his heart. Damn this thing called life.

And now with a question from Slaughter directed towards my walk, I'm in the back seat of his car wondering if I'm going through Round 2 of something I never wanted to happen unplanned again.

And it's not that I'm careless..or unthoughtful. I'm calm because it happened before. I should know the signs, I think I would know the signs.....

I must exert my will power. I don't have any...and I'm tired of going back on my word to myself. No longer...