Who knows why I’m typing all of these letters down this exact moment. All that’s known by a heart caved in by deceit and endless hits of weed smoke is, that it doesn’t want to die, even if it seems to reach a flatline closer as the days pass by…
And, Goku along with poetry is all that I’ve had. Goku and Poetry was there for me when The Bronx labeled my character a shy, quiet “Nobody” invisible to everyone he encounters. Over at Dr. Martin Luther King Boulevard a few feet apart from the Cross Bronx Bridge, freedom was never known until I was finally face to face with the only king I’ve ever known, none other than Goku from Dragon Ball since he was the only one who wasn’t picking on me. Didn’t matter if it was Mom and her endless cries of why I was the reason her life failed. Or my dad smiling in my face, hugging me for once just to go and claim how I am not a man of any sort to mom herself. Or, even every friend who only sought my company when there were benefits behind it. Goku was the one kid I could always rely on to help make me smile. Then, when reaching high school, more smiles were found inside of a brown, leather journal given to me by the best uncle I could’ve ever have asked for…
Thinking about his departure as I write these sentences, I kind of just, want to “meet” up with him. Have a cup of tea and tell him every cold, hard truth my life has to offer…
m3l0dicverse 
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