Boys in the hood.

  • There we go in the handball courts with the fence keeping us locked in, is this prison or the neighborhood park? It’s both. In this photo from left to right, me- Tyrone, Spider, Niteowl, Mousey, from the four three of us survived one died, mousey, he’s gone he died in the late eighties. Violence and addiction led to his death, just like many others. We were saved to talk about it. When you look at us you could see the attitude, needed to live in those days. We were hard and fought with our hands, there were guns, but our biggest weapon was our anger. I can punch so hard; that I can kill you, because behind that punch was everything I had within, all the resentments, hate, despair, racism, and ignorance. Fool I was, for I was given false hope thinking that the hood was my only salvation, along with my rep of being tough. Inside I was nothing but a little boy trying to escape! I couldn’t find a door that will lead me to freedom, for my anger blinded me. “How many more years will come before I would see the light” fighting a disease that was introduced into my soul, drugs, alcohol, gangs were my master. One day I asked God for help and he tells me whenever you get ready. I said “I’m ready now” and he said I wasn’t, so on went my mental enslavement to continue to harbor my morals, morals that were wrong. I woke up one day in Europe and found myself doing the same as I walked like a drunk in Italy. Spain, France, Greece, How did not the geographical change do something different. Was it not the hood or was it just me? Thrown from Spain for being drunk I’m sent to Rehab in New York only to find sobriety in my own back yard. I am free today! “thank God am free”.
  • Have a nice day:0)
  • Tyrone Garcia

My Book: “soap that doesn’t clean” will be out soon.

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