Responsibility, structure, and sacrificial discipline doesn’t suit u… So u run to the streets to be free.. But let me ask u… This is truely freedom? Ur need for the people ur dying to be around who’ve accepted this same hedonistic way of living and who long for nothing greater than relaxation is in itself a prison… An addiction. They’ll tell u nothing that challenges ur choices… Nothing that confronts the futility and pointlessness of this freedom u claim u deserve because of the world being too hard on u with all its demands. Let’s chill… Let’s escape… Let’s get baked. While everyone else climbs up life’s hill on weary yet determined legs under life’s burning sun, u sit on a slope with ur buddies in the shade… Laughing, lounging, and speaking on the meaning of life in philosophical terms feeling very blessed and wise… with blood shot eyes and a serious craving for junk food… Yes, Freedom.

Published by Pack Redfeather

I am a walking contradiction of traditions some say. An African American and Native American Muslim poet with a personal life history as violently turbulent as a Storm. A visionary from the bottom of life’s social barrel striving to share the hope found in the light of faith through sometimes dark but real poetry. I’m a former member of the Bloods street gang, former serial bank robber, and both federal/state prison convict. I live on my mother’s tribal reservation of the Leech Lake band of Ojibwe in Minnesota.

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