God's Broken Lil' Baby. E. Jay Ford
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were outside playing. I went to my room and cried. I decided I couldn’t take it anymore. I’m going to end it.
I searched the house for anything that I could find. Cutting my wrist wasn’t an option because I had a low tolerance for pain. There were no guns in the house. I searched the house high and low for something that would get the job done. I found some pills. I found the solution. We had this metal cup that was tall like a fancy beer glass. I loved that cup because it was really pretty. Perfect cup to use to end this misery of a life that I have. The pills were capsules, so this would be a lot easier than I thought. I just have to open them up and pour them in the water and stir. It would be like making a special cup of Kool-Aid. I took every pill that was in the bottle and strategically opened each one pouring it into this cold cup of water. I stirred it forever to make sure my concoction would be just right. I got up and locked the door. I didn’t want anyone to interrupt me nor want them to find me in enough time to help me. I sat in the middle of my bedroom floor and began to cry. I started to drink the poison as I thought about the day and my life and why I was here. I couldn’t believe that any person deserved to live as I was living. I drank some more. Three strong gulps went down hard. It was a bitter taste, but I didn’t care. The pain I was feeling was way worse, so drink this shit. I cried some more. I thought about what had happened in school today and cried harder. This time, I drank even more because I knew the torture from those people would never stop. I was committing suicide.
I felt dizzy. It was happening. It was hot, and I started to sweat. It was cold outside, but I opened the window anyway. I couldn’t breathe a little, so I stuck my head out of the window. I got a little scared as I started to pass out. I couldn’t see straight. All of a sudden, there was darkness. I woke up to Baby Sis shaking me to tell she was hungry. I apparently didn’t shut the door all the way. My head was hurting, and my mouth felt like I had been sucking on cotton balls. It didn’t work. It was morning the next day. I wasn’t dead. I sat up and started crying again, crying because I have got to be the ultimate fucking loser. I can’t even successfully commit suicide.
I can only conclude that it must not have been my time. I became an adult that helped so many youth that I lost count. God had a plan for me. Don’t get me wrong, I still hurt from that shit. I just started forgiving maybe a couple of years ago. Really, after I saw some those fat bitches at a high school reunion twenty years later living loser lives. Sorry, shit was funny to me. Funny because until that very moment, I had imagined because of who they were in high school was who they were now. Life happened to their asses too, and some of them were suffering that karma because of the people they were. With that being said, I live life. That’s not to say that I didn’t ever think about suicide again. I am just strong enough not to try it and push through, so that’s what I do. I push through.
Chapter 10
10 So She Smokes Dope
My Letter to the Dope Man
I’m the oldest of five,
any more pressure and I think I’ll die.
I don’t know where or when it actually began.
I just want this nightmare to end.
You are no help you know.
The pain is horrible and slow.
On the first, she gets her welfare check.
It’s the tenth and no sign of her yet.
You take the money and give her crack,
acting like you don’t know the devastating impact.
We are children who can’t fend for ourselves.
The youngest is four, and me, I’m the oldest, and I’m only twelve.
The food stamps are gone because she sold those too.
Once again, less for us and more for you.
I understand it’s fast money, and you have extravagant needs.
But we go without due to your unlawful deeds.
Yes, you get the money to take care of your bills.
In exchange, we go for days without meals.
Times are hard for you and us.
Do your part to make it better and stop selling drugs.
Hunger is only the beginning of our troubles.
The problems then start on another level.
Summer is good, but there isn’t much to do.
But winters are long, scary, and cruel.
We all sleep on the kitchen floor
because the only source of heat is the oven with an open door.
Let’s not forget school.
No money for books, paper, or writing tools;
no new clothes or shoes to show off;
just the same dirty clothes, old shoes, and a nasty cough.
Think about what I just told you.
I hope you change or at least adhere a little caution to what you do.
Don’t get me wrong, your worries are probably just as bad,
in a different why but just as sad.
Next time, our take money for stamps,
next projects you post up in and camp.
Think, the life you are selling to is not her won to destroy.
She got three little girls and two boys.
I felt it was time to say something—to take a stand.
So this is my letter to the dope man.
The Letter from the Dope Man
I listened to your voice, and I heard your cry.
Now it’s my turn to let loose mines.
I’m a young black man at the age of twenty-one.
I’ve been selling since I was twelve and not once has this shit been fun.
My momma’s a crackhead too, and my daddy’s a drunk.
I’m not blaming that on the choices I’ve made, but I wasn’t real smart, and I could never dunk.
My chances of getting out of the ghetto were getting smaller and smaller.
Problems in my youth stacked taller and taller.
I have three siblings under me;
I had to find a way out to set them free.
“Get a job” is what they all say.
Couldn’t take care of the four of us on McDonald’s petty ass pay.
Keeping my head above water is hard to do.
Times were hard ad options were few.
I do what I do for survival.
To add to that, I’m preparing for my newborn’s arrival.
I am sorry for what I’ve put your family through,
but my brother wants to go to college, and my sister needs new shoes.
Time is something I do not have.
I apologize on the dope man’s behalf.
Someday, I’m gonna quit this shit;
make enough money to start my own business, something legit.
I worry every day about being locked up or somebody hittin’ a lick.
What I do gets a lot of people pissed.
I want just as bad as you did for this to end.
Maybe one day, we can come together find a solution and begin again.
Until