It was all a dream
Not every black man that had a dream can see positive come out of it similar to Doctor Martin King. In my dream I was every where I wanted to be. Life was finally in my favor I had my own house sitting on a couch alone with my thoughts. In front of me all the things I needed to take over the world sat on my table. No it was a cup of coffie, the Wall Street Journal and my phone. Instead it was a brick of cocaine, a few guns even tho I perfer not to use volence because hey all I really wanted is the money Dead presedents not alive ones. And last but not least money in stacks of ten thousands. Who would complain about this dream I thought. I had worked very hard to accomplish my version of the american dream. Why not enjoy it? Before I could see my vision of what I would do with the money I heard boom, boom, boom!! I jumped off the couch just in time to see black figures with white letters on their clothes. I didnt need to wait to understand that they were here to turn my dream into a nightmare where I lose all I only just gained. I run leaving behind the thing I cherished so much but never can seem to hold for long. Im runing in slow motion but I know Im faster. My feet feel heavy like I had bricks tied to them. Why does my dream always turn into a nightmare just when I start enjoying it? This reality has never really happened to me which makes it a dream forever. I get caught because the thing I seek isnt worth catching. In life we dream of things we really dont want or know how to use properly. The dream I just described is my real nightmare but its the object of every young mans obsession. There are many urban novels embelishing this nightmare but all we see is the beginning not how it always ends. Today in my nightmare reality I have changed my dreams because somebody has to build a better dream. One day this nightmare will all be just a dream...
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