In the projects, the only way to relieve some of the stress

In the projects, the only way to relieve some of the stress is to park the car and just start rhyming. In such a dangerous place, it was the only thing we had to free our mind and run away from the dangers. Safety was a word that did not exist in the project dictionary. In the streets, it was like a Maad City, filled with drugs, Bloods, and Crips. At home, we had to only dream of money trees to give us some shade. All around me, it felt like a swimming pool filled to the brim with liqueur. Especially at home. I grew with people livin’ their life in bottles. My own granddaddy had the golden flask filled up and ready to go every day. He wouldn’t spend a cent on rent, but he would spend hundreds of dollars on a shiny, sleek, and deadly gold flask. To get around at home, I would have to do backstrokes through the gallons of liquor stored in my mama’s pad.
The real issue is the alcoholism spread to me. I felt that the only way to fit in and be accepted was to pop a bottle. That thought re-occurred in my head millions of times non-stop, until one day I decided to do something about it. I shut off the lights in the room, loud tunes lookin’ to make a vow soon that I’ma get fucked up fillin up my cup with whatever felt right. As any honest boy, I took a sip, then another sip, and then somebody said to me,
“Okay, now open your mind up and listen me, Kendrick I am your conscience, if you do not hear me. Then you will be history, Kendrick I know that you're nauseous right now and I’m hopin to lead you to victory Kendrick,”
If I take another one down I'ma drown in some poison, abusin' my limit, but screw it. Everything is swirling. Blends of color, things, memories, ideas. I can't think straight.
I don’t know where I am, but I love it. Everything fades. Life seems so easy, no pain no shame. Only happy thoughts.
My vision starts going black. My eyelids get heavy. I’m starting to lose balance. I start to fall. The feelings around me fade as I hit the ground.
I wake up in the hospital. My mama looking at me with worry, my granddaddy sitting with his golden flask.
“He will be alright ma’am,” the doctor reassuringly tells my mama. He takes a look at my grandad.
“I would put that down if I were you because-“
“Oh shut yo damn mouth boy, I know my limit,” he responds while taking another sip, “I ain’t like this foo over here.”
“Why Kendrick, why. You know we don’t have the money for this. Why did you do this to me.” Mama says, “We don't live under money trees, and you know it.”
Yes mama, I know. I know that you are lyin. You say this every time as if it's some sort of vindication for you. I know we are sitting upon stacks and stacks of drug money but you want to hide it. You want to hide it from me like it’s some sort of disease, but I know all about it ma. The amount, from who, where, when. Absolutely everything. Yet you still act like you're some sort of gods apprentice, that you only do the right things and we should treat you as though you have descended upon us from God. I know you are in the business cause I’m in the business ma.
They tell you it's a maad city. You really don’t understand that phrase until you develop the habits you gain from the project life. The situations that you put yourself into bring out your true intentions and colors. What you do and how you do it influences everyone around you. The first time I sold was much the same.
The first day I sold was a complete accident. I was strolling through an alleyway: looking for anything selL. Cloth, cans, water bottles, anything. At the time, I was not exposed to the thousands of dollars of cas