It's my fight

I have written 21 blogs. Amazing. In the course of time that I've written my 21 blogs, I've covered a variety of topics. I've addressed some relatively controversial subjects. However the most interesting thing is, when I've written about myself or things that I feel, I get the biggest response. People allow their own guilt to make them project onto my blog. I've had people assume my blog was about them (many times). Considering I've said no one person will motivate a blog, people allow their guilt and ego to take over and make the assumption anyways. I've been asked if someone just pissed me off, all because of a blog. My mother is the only one person who motivated a blog. You're not on her level, so knock it off.

Seriously folks, how can you get upset with me for my blog? This could be my outlet. Everyone has one. As long as I am not projecting my outlet in a way that harms you, there should be no issue. If I am not yelling at you, hitting you, threatening you, or attacking you, leave it alone. This is the difference between someone punching a wall and punching you. This is the difference between screaming in a pillow and screaming at you. You can't tell someone how to fight their fight. Yes, it's a fight. Life is full of them. You have a fight; you win the fight; you lose the fight; and hopefully you learn from the fight.

When I was a kid, I used to live across the street from this big lot. At the time I called it a park because there was grass, but the truth is, it was a grassy lot. (For those of you in Rhody, it's the park next to the Messer st fire station.) Now that park was the stuff where legends were made. You had volleyball games where I actually saw a guy get shot at over an in out argument. You had kids being able to identify crack vials because they were everywhere...mostly red tops in that spot. However, one day I was outside and this kid decided he was going to roll up some dried leaves in toilet paper, and smoke them. He insisted you would get high off of them. I believed if people could get high from smoking fallen leaves, then people wouldn't buy drugs. Therefore, I called him stupid. He proceeded to want to fight, but instead of fighting he picked up a bottle, broke it and came at me. Now based on when I lived there I was somewhere between 9 and 12 years old. I ran...hell yeah I ran. I ran straight home, into my kitchen and grabbed a steak knife. As I went to go back outside with my steak knife my mother came out of her room, and we'll just say she gave me a stern talking to. She also proceeded to question my manhood because I was afraid of some kid chasing me with a bottle. She sent be back outside, to fight my fight my way.

Yes that was a long story but the point was that she didn't take away my fight. She didn't go outside and yell at the kid. I had changed the way I was going to fight because he had a different fighting method. She "suggested" against it. No matter what, it was still my fight.

We all have outlets. Outlets for our range of emotions. Maybe we scream when we're angry and throw pillows when we're upset. Maybe we, cry when we're happy, and cry when we're sad, and cry when we're upset. Maybe we just bitch no matter what the emotion. However maybe we write. Maybe we could write to ourselves and just get it out, but we allow other people to see our outlet because they might learn from my fights. When I don't write, I get emails asking me where's my next blog. When I do, I get emails getting mad at me for my blog. As I said before, you don't have to read it. Maybe I don't want to punch walls, scream or cry.


All you can do with someone else's fight is help. If you see them about to do something you've already done, you can offer advice. Nothing more. You can't do more because you're not the one living with the consequences. If you cold cocked someone in a situation and you advise that to me, are you going to serve my prison sentence? The answer is, unless your that dude who went to jail for Notorious BIG, no. I don't see any of my friends going to jail for me. I'm damned sure not going for you. I'm a black, yankee who lives in the south. That's as close to prison as I want to get.

This is me fighting my fight. This is not my passive aggressive cry for help. This is not my passive aggressive way to let you know I'm mad at you. This is not my passive aggressive way of letting you know I'm going to hurt you. This is me fighting my fight. I don't have time to fight your fight because I'm too busy fighting mine. If your fight doesn't keep you busy enough, that's because you're probably not fighting it.