Bryndon Minniefield
Email: bryndon.minniefield@cityhigh.org
PR OXY LETTER
The Voice of the Voiceless
BRYNDON C. MINNIEFIELD
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Bryndon Minniefield
Email: bryndon.minniefield@cityhigh.org
ACKNOWLEGEMENTS
To the people without a voice. To the scholars. To the “failures.” To the animals. To the man who stole a
car. To the woman carrying a purse. To the person ready to give up. To your next-door neighbor. To your
brother. To your sister. To your mom. To your dad. To the buildings. To the cars. To the young and the
restless. To the babies. To the babies with babies. To the drug dealers. To the motherless children. To
the white man. To the black man. To the Asian man. To the Middle-Eastern man. To the Hispanic man.
To the people. To all. To you.
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Bryndon Minniefield
Email: bryndon.minniefield@cityhigh.org
For Robin and Leonard.
For Peter and Cliff.
For Alexander and John.
For Mark and Nathan.
For Deshon.
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Bryndon Minniefield
Email: bryndon.minniefield@cityhigh.org
Chapter 1:
Women’s Paradise
Women are critical species of the human race. Without women, our population will decrease
until there is no more existence of humanity. With that being said; if an alien landed on the earth right
now, it would see a woman as a sex slave, a dog, abused, mistreated, and stepped on. Now I constantly
ask myself how difficult it must be to be a female. Imagine getting overlooked because you aren’t
physically able to play a predominantly male sport, or imagine carrying a baby for nine months and still
having to manage everyday responsibilities. They say, “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger” and I
am convinced that women have a built-in microchip that places them in “Beast-Mode” in any situation.
Women carry this world on their backs. Without a woman, we wouldn’t have our 1st president that is
cherished so much by White America; without a woman, slaves wouldn’t have been freed because of all
of the men that fought in the Civil War were birthed by women.
So why are our women being treated so badly around the world? Simply because males feel as if
they have to obtain a “Strong” persona so that they wouldn’t be portrayed as weak or fragile to the
people around them. Another reason is because of bad parenting. Bad parenting is seen a lot in the
modern world. It all starts with a female who simply isn’t ready for parenthood; rather she is too young,
too selfish, or too weak to raise a kid. So if she gives birth to a baby and she doesn’t know how to raise it
or teach it anything; it will grow up to not respect its mother and not take her seriously. Then this
behavior gets passed on through generations. The ignorance just evolves. Everything starts at home.
Home is the origin of our future. This means that our future presidents, writers, historians, police
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officers, and doctors all have to have the proper training from their parents at home before they can
step into the real world and become something and interact with others.
Children that are neglected by their parents are at higher risk of becoming criminals or mental
patients because they have to take care of themselves starting at a young age and they are exposed to a
lot more than a child who has the proper guidance in their life. Every once in a while, a child might be
born with common sense and realize the right path that they should head down if their parents aren’t
there for them. But other times, children either develop the common sense and want to live a better
life, or have the common sense and still go down the wrong path, or just don’t know what is right for
them throughout their life. Sadly, women are starting to become the definition of a parent as more and
more fathers are not living up to their fatherly duties. Women in single parent households are in charge
of paying the bills, taking care of the household, going to conferences with their children, keeping up
with their grades, scheduling doctor’s appointments, signing them up for sports, and even spending
quality time with them at the same time.
In my opinion, women deserve so much better than they are given. My heart goes out to single
mothers who have to stand in the cold and wait for a bus every morning to drop their kid off at day care
and then have to go to work afterwards. My heart also goes out to women who are being treated biased
by men. My heart goes out to all of the women out there for making it through problems that men will
never experience. I thank you.
Tatiana
Good morning to the woman who I crush on. I want you to know that I have never introduced myself to
you but I love you. I feel it. Your hair is long and your skin is pure. May I hold your hand? Just once. Can
you please be with me? Be my girl. My dream girl’s name is Tatiana, yours may be different? Whatever
the matter is. We should know that we have something in common. We’re afraid. We’re afraid of being
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Bryndon Minniefield
Email: bryndon.minniefield@cityhigh.org
let down. Our pride is in the way. My confidence is low; I am goofy to hide my depression that can be
obvious. I have anxiety, yet I stay calm. The thought of Tatiana not loving me back is a thought I would
never want to have. I can easily drive to your house and pick her up…but something is holding me back. I
never even spoke to her.
I am afraid. Her beautiful is something a man should strive for. Her demeanor is spiritual. All I
want is for Tatiana to call out my name. “They call me B-R-Y-N-D-O-N, now baby tell me what you want
to do with me?” That’s what I want. I love dramatic stuff like that. I’m not Usher Raymond, but I think
it’d be cool if I said that to her and she just went along with it. If I played a sport, I wanna see your pom
poms from the stands. I want you to support me with everything I do. I will do the same for you. Tatiana,
you run my mind, constantly. I think of where I’d be or where I want to be or how it would be if you
would be with me. This is love…at least on my end. You’re so beautiful and pure. I’d tell her, but I never
even spoke to her..
When I was your age…
Our ignorance calls it pussy, snatch, kitty cat. Mother, I’m sorry you gave birth to an oblivious
motherfucker. I’m trapped behind these walls where hormones jump out my skin; I try to cover my
penis by holding my books over it. The rush that I would get was more than any man can handle. I want
to touch your waste and kiss your lips, I can’t wait. The twisted, sexual mind of a boy whether he is
white, black, Asian, Hispanic, purple, red, yellow, or even pink can’t restrain from the actual thought of
stroking the pink. As our bodies grow older our minds get dirtier our pants get bigger to hide the
extension of our extension. It’ll definitely reach her. My eyes water, my palms sweat, I feel like I’ll never
make it. I feel like a convicted rapist before I even make a move. She’s built like a goddess, she walk like
a goddess, everything is like a goddess.
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Bryndon Minniefield
Email: bryndon.minniefield@cityhigh.org
Chapter 2:
My Country Tis of thee
My Country Tis of Thee, crack rocks on every corner of the ghetto. Too afraid to lone a homeless person
a dollar because we are afraid of schemes. Evil schemes by United States government aren’t making life
any better. Immigrants are blinded by the persuasive lies that are told by the United States. They are
told that the United States is the land of the free, when really it is the land of twisted ideas and cruel
tactics to place us on a high pedestal. Thousands of U.S. citizens are unemployed; for what? Bias work
environments. I am told to deeply analyze something in my history class and once I “deeply” analyze
something, It is too “deeply” analyzed and I don’t get the full credit that I truly deserve because of I am
not supposed to have the knowledge of this pulverized world that I have.
Going back to the U.S. being so called “free”. The United States is far from “free”, especially
when you’re a black male living in this society. I as well as other African American males is feared by the
white men who rule the United St--Sorry…I was rudely interrupted by one of my 11th Cultural Literacy teachers; see, we were given
independent time to finish our work in class, and my teacher caught me writing this part of PROXY
LETTER and sent me in the hallway. I ended up going leaving school early that day shortly after getting
sent to the hallway. But as I was saying, African American males are feared by the white man. So
therefore, obstacles are thrown in our path and it is up to us with what we do with it. Everything an
African American male do in this world is held against them. And it isn’t even African American’s who
are treated badly by white U.S. citizens, it is any minority and anyone else who is seen as a threat by a
white person. Life is hard…but even harder as an underdog.
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Email: bryndon.minniefield@cityhigh.org
United States…”Land of the free”, if it was so called, “free” then we wouldn’t be taxed on
everything we purchase, we wouldn’t have to pay bills on things that we technically own like, houses,
cars, phones, etc…I mean, we invested in these things with our own money, I think that we should have
the right to go on with our lives and not have to worry about paying a bill for it after we’ve just spent an
arm and a leg for it. “Land of the free”, if it was so called, “free” then there would be no such thing as
racism. Yes, racism still exists; I’ll get into that later. The Declaration of Independence was written in
favor of White People in the United States. It protects all of the rights that a white man has. There were
absolutely no intentions of making black people independent. The man who the Declaration of
Independence owned slaves…so what does that tell you? “My country tis of thee, Sweet land of kill ‘em
all and let ‘em die” (Dwayne Michael Carter). God bless this hellacious demon playground.
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Email: bryndon.minniefield@cityhigh.org
Chapter 3:
Kinfolk
My life was based around loneliness and self-happiness, mixed with depression. One minute I
was happy being alone, and then it started to get to me. I was never the popular kid; I never followed
after my peers, never fell into peer-pressure. My mind was always ahead of my peers by ages. I was
more cognizant and more conscious about my future – you could say that drew a lot of people away
from me. When high school started, I met three of the most interesting young men I could ever meet.
Their names; Devin Pandy, Eliyah Davis, and Tyler Hughes. Devin was cool, calm and collective, always
rolled with the flow…he never questioned too many things. Eliyah was extremely street smart and
rather smooth with the females. Tyler…Tyler reminded me of myself in many ways. We had interest in
videogames, wore glasses all of our lives, and both rather spoiled.
Through High School, these guys introduced me to a new life. Know what? They introduced me
to a new wave. A wave that didn’t concern material things or notability; just good times. Good times and
heavy laughter and excitement are all I ever had with those dudes. I swear, they were so awesome. I’m
speaking in the past tense to add a little drama – but their still here, they’re still around – everything I
am talking about in this Proxy Letter is still occurring. There is this thing I believe in. I believe in finding
yourself and allowing positive people to fall in place in your life. When you chase after friendships,
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you’ll end up with a broken heart. But the moment things just fall in place by the power of will, your
mind will be steadier and you will see nothing wrong with yourself if those people do wrong by you; you
will see stupidity in them and their actions.
I’m humbled to be in a place where I have a foundation. A small clan of three black boys that
roam the streets of the suburbs in their parent’s vehicles. We are not society. We are not a part of it.
This isn’t what we are supposed to be. We are brothers. –
Chapter 4:
RED MOON
The night my nephew was born, it stormed. The moon formed a spectrum and shined its light
through the room that my sister birthed him in. my tears were silver. They’re tears of joy. No need for
music because my heart formed a beat of its own. A beat like no other. My sister is a mother. Brittany’s
got a baby. Bryndon got a nephew. No sound of a cry…his eyes were dry. Again…no sound of a cry. My
sister had healed. We brought him home. His father was there…but his presence didn’t last long. He
turned into a rolling stone. My daddy was there. His daddy had left. I feel so bad for the little fella. His
daddy is right up the street. After several weeks, he never returned. My nephew call me his brother. I
serve as a mentor to that boy, he’s my baby brother. My daddy is his daddy. My mommy is his mommy.
His mother has better things to do, neglectful ways breaks his heart but my teachings shall heal. My
presence shall heal. The boy has talent in every way. He deserves to hear. His mama breaks his heart.
But that is no surprise; in denial about depression so she take her anger out on that poor child…
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Bryndon Minniefield
Email: bryndon.minniefield@cityhigh.org
Slight return…my nephew’s papa is on slight return. One step at a time he misses my sister and
all of the time she gave to him. The good times she gave to him. My nephew has witnessed; what young
eyes should have not. The sins of a lost soul. My sister forgives. The next day she doesn’t. The next day
we live in a world where we’re mad at her. For accepting his papa. My nephew’s absent papa. No one
shall know what papa did for my nephew because it was nothing. How could you forgive when its
something that could have been prevented if you wouldn’t think sexually –
My nephew didn’t ask to be here,
He didn’t ask to come on down…
To this hell-hole called earth. Now his mama is doing real bad, and now my father and I will raise him
like we’re his dad.
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Bryndon Minniefield
Email: bryndon.minniefield@cityhigh.org
Chapter 5:
Downtown
The city lights feel so weird. I mean, I haven’t been downtown since I was a kid and when I was a kid
everything was so fascinating. It was like a new world or something. Something I’ve never seen before. I
remember holding my mom’s hand while crossing the street and seeing white men walking urgently
with leather suitcases and suits. I use to look up at everything in astonishment. Those bus rides on the
77 were insane. Everyone that entered that bus was berserk. But anyway, 9th grade was when I first got
introduced to the downtown lifestyle. I was a teenager. I had my own mind and concepts and by this
time, I thought I was ready but I really wasn’t. I was on my own. I seen kids my age acting a fool and I
didn’t want to give myself a bad look like that. Devin and Eliyah inhaling marijuana as if their life
depended on it. Was I pressured? Hell yeah. But the fact of the matter is that I stood my ground…I
understood my morals. I still do ‘til this day.
I never understood how smoking weed and drowning your insides with Hennessey will ease
problems. The only thing it does is make you closer to death and the closer to death that I get comes
from these fucking twisted thoughts that run through my mind on a daily basis. I can say that my best
friends are followers. Its deep how you can grow up watching your brother hit that joint, and he
encourages you to do it, or you sneak some out of your own suspicion…that automatically places you in
a fucked up spot. What in your mind makes you want to inhale a substance that impairs your reactions
and perspective of the world? That is just me. Some people go as far as making excuses; “I’m a teenager,
I’m gonna try it eventually.” Or even “I don’t get high to look cool, I get high because it feels good.”
That’s a real fucking shame. When it comes down to the hardest situations in life, instead of pushing
harder to overcome, all you will think about is that blunt in your mouth to ease the pain. But guess
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Bryndon Minniefield
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what? That pain never leaves. It goddamn circulates in your mind and you get all delusional and
say/think of dumb shit. Once that crap wares off, the problem is still there and it hits you 2 times harder.
So I’m saying fuck that and I’m moving on with my goddamn life.
Moving on, downtown hasn’t changed me. It only opened my eyes. Downtown in any city is
worth visiting in my eyes. Protests for unknown causes fill the decayed streets of downtown Pittsburgh,
along with pregnant women pushing strollers, and drug dealers walking past crowded bus stops with a
blunt in their lips and their pants hanging 6 inches below their waste. You have the city police officers
that stand outside of the abandoned Arby’s on Wood St. waiting for violence to escalate. Homeless
people with loaded shopping carts and barrels to start fires underneath one of the many bridges that
align with PNC Park and the North shore. I walk through the valley of the shadow of death when I walk
through the white man’s streets, I’m too afraid to get robbed so I tuck my wallet underneath my North
Face and then I move along like I’m not a walking target. My scholarly look after school every day makes
me a target for sniping targets. I market my intelligence through words that I write; my teachers say I get
side-tracked; I say not quite. There’s nothing wrong with shining new lights like the light from the flame
of KKK burning crosses in the yards of black folks that read Claude McKay and eat fried chicken and try
to teach their children short readings from the bible. I carry loaded mac 10’s in my mind, already aimed
and cocked for any nickel, penny, or a dime. These streets are fucking hunger games collected in a sense
all the cents I gave to homeless men downtown just aren’t enough.
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Email: bryndon.minniefield@cityhigh.org
BLANK EMOTIONS PT. 1
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Chapter 6: The
Homeless Man
He’s not noticed but he is looked down upon by those who have it. “Have it” being the stability and
ability to hold their own. Homeless man could hold his own of course because he’s been alone of course
for many years possibly a couple decades or more. I cry tears when I see the battered clothes, I. I cry
tears when I see him by the road, I. I cry tears when I walk in my warm home and I think about the cold
bridge in which that man calls his home. I can never say I’m not spoiled or was never spoiled ‘cause
poppa worked 10 2 10 and 10 2 10 again until his heart paused for minutes and he was rushed through
hospital doors and I had to come home from school to walk through those doors to visit him. He did it all
for me. Never would I believe that someone would go the mile to almost die just for me. I mean, dad,
I’m your son, and your only one, but that doesn’t mean you have to give me everything I want. I wish my
mind was to the point where I could just say no. But getting things that I want; it’s just hard to let go.
That homeless man needs clothes but I need a new controller for my PlayStation 3. He probably hasn’t
seen a game system since his nephew was three. Looking past that, I wish I could give out, I could just
choose not to because I’m too selfish. Lord get me out of my ways, so I can make a change to change
this world and spare some change to the homeless boys and girls. My mind is fucking crashed like a 911
crash site fucking pissing in the grass because the stores are locked at night. I need some tissue for my
eyes it’s no surprise that our tax is going up but there’s no shelter or enough room for the homeless
man in civilization. The patience is released and explosions from within overtakes society. He resorts to
crime ‘cause his stomach growls like a Pit or a lion at the tip of a mountain. It’s not hard to find a fucking
gun in the streets so he stick people up until his stomach is pleased, it’s deep. There’s even some
homeless men who walk around the streets and play evil schemes to get money for crack and everything
that puts their mind at ease – knock addictions…I’m calling out for all the sinful potions in the streets
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that keep these people underneath the point that the government don’t want them. I used to think that
I was special needs until my momma told me I was talented, you see that I believe her. I feel suicidal and
I’m not even homeless – that homeless man wants to jump in hopes to find a home – somewhere in
heaven – save a cozy bed for him now – let him rest his soul and eyes from this genocide – outside in
winter days be the coldest hours – it’s too cold outside for angels to fly, it’s too fucking deep.
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Bryndon Minniefield
Email: bryndon.minniefield@cityhigh.org
Chapter 7: WOMAN’S PURSE
|Interlude
The purse is a mystery. How do you do it lady? I ride Port Authority Buses every day during the week in
order to get to and from school. Those buses get crowded. Oh, lady. How do you do it? Independent
woman can hold her own. I give up my seat for her because my mother always taught me to do so for
women. She politely denies it and continues to hold her purse.
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Chapter 8: CRACK
ROCK MARIJUANA METH’D UP
SUPER SAGA SEGA GENISUS
Where to begin? The flooded streets are saying the least as the hustlers on every corner collect their
thousand for the week. It’s no surprise their last name don’t match up to their daddy’s. The stereotype
for black folk is coming true; no longer stereotypes, it’s now types that are proved. The white man
colonized Africa and started apartheid. We moved past that so he brought in drugs to keep us all down.
He saves enough for his damn self and drops them in the street, it’s no release date; first come; first
served is how you have to treat it. The kids get dime bags for fucking trick or treating and since he has
the dope money, he throws it out the window for no reason. This is all because he never had to work for
it; wealth without work. And the wealth can be made in a day from light work. Selling things to
undercover, keep the semi under covers because your paranoia takes over when you have a guilty
conscious. I fucking hate the thought of all this bull. His mother shoots it in her skin to wash away her
deadly sins but she ignorant to the fact that she’s consuming all the sin. Sin send her back to her
homeland, she’s spoiling the kids’ minds and their hungry. She spends the money on belts to find her
vein with. After a while that vein just pops out; her body rearranges. Adapted to that heroin; she needs
a hero. God can’t help you; your confidence is on zero. Complete fuck up in life is what you’re looking
like. In which you are; my uncle Greg died right outside the bar. Not literally but he drowned in the malt
until his heart blasted out like the gauge of a 12 gauge and blood oozing out. This fucking world is so
cold. My mother could’ve been hooked on it. White lines on piano keys, there are young boys playing it
now. Who am I to intervene I just want the dollar, please? We all have lives so I’m gonna live it until the
death of me. Many men has fallen victim to the crack rock. It’s New Crack City where fiends get more
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filthy and women pull out their titties for some money for some dope that can hold off until whenever.
But that’s none of my business. White man want us to remain oblivious its hideous, all the flaws in the
world and a bad image. The little boy plays Sega Genisus while his mom inhale the crack and the coke
and the weed all at the same time, its shady how we kill each other; no sympathy for no other. No
empathy for that brother. Oh my, it’s a cold summer.
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Bryndon Minniefield
Email: bryndon.minniefield@cityhigh.org
Chapter 9:
Papa was there…
His mother is working two jobs while mine only works one. His mother struggles with her payments as
mine has help. His mother’s temples are swollen from the doubt of ever having assistance in raising him.
Some boys go down the wrong road. Some boys have a strict upbringing. Some start off bad and end up
redeeming themselves. There are some boys that have to become men prematurely; such as the boy
who would come home from school to see his mother passed out on the couch from her daily drug rant.
Or the boy that has to defend his mother from her abusive boyfriend. Or even the boy who has to work
every day after school to provide for his family.
Two of my best friends face similar problems. They have to man up and accept the fact that their
parents just didn’t work out. There are boys that drop out of school. There are boys that don’t come to
school at all. There are many children that are motivated by negativity because that is all they were
surrounded by their whole lives. Imagine being born; your father was a drug dealer and got murdered,
your mother is addicted to crack, and all of the people that you were introduced to in your life made you
believe that the streets were the only option. Imagine never meeting a man. Imagine never seeing the
positive side. Imagine being a young African American man in society and you’ve never interacted with a
man, you’ve only interacted with menaces – monsters.
These days, young men are blinded by cash and they don’t know any other alternatives to turn to. They
don’t have a male leader in their life. There is no one to teach them how to clinch their fist to defend
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themselves instead of clinching the metal grip on a Glock Nine. I am speaking into the dark alleys of the
projects. Where every boy is depending on that firearm tucked into their Hanes boxers because they are
afraid of what is in the world. They are afraid because there were never prepared or taught anything by
a man. Their mother did the best she could but obviously the best that she could’ve done is still possible,
but she just doesn’t care too much; because a good mother will keep striving and won’t have to make
the excuse that she’s done the best she possibly could.
Somewhere in the slumps, there is a boy standing on the corner with lint in his pockets, fog in his eyes
and crime running through his mind because that’s the only thing he knows. All I’m trying to say here is
that every boy needs a fatherly connection. A father should be there to show a young man the positive
side of things to steer him away from the negative things that can inflict a harmful future. Luckily, I’ve
had a father all of my life and I don’t know what life is without him. He showed me the ambition and
drive that every man should have to go to work and support his family. My father sacrifices his health by
working countless overtime hours just to make sure that we’re stable. As I gaze into the mirror I realize
the image I view in that of a courageous, respectful, well groomed, dedicated man. The image that I
view is my father; and I am thankful to have a father in my life.
Anytime
Please let me explain my papa’s presence and what I see. I see a man – a man who is
independent and carries himself the way any little boy would want to grow up and want to be like.
Before I go further…dad, I see you being self-destructive. Basically you have the burner to your fucking
head as we speak. You wake up and wipe your ass with our positive attitudes. I find myself ready to
break from your unpredictable emotions. The brick of a wall smashes on my mind one time at a time
and I lose confidence in believing you’ll change. I accepted my depression and anxiety and now I have to
take fucking pills for it in order to keep it tamed. At some point, you have to be a man and own up to
your problems. What happened to you when you were a child that makes you act the way you do? What
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the fuck is going on? I want to solve this. You are the reason why mommy is dying on the inside. Face it,
your depression just rubs off on my mother. She intends to love you. She takes care of you. You think
money heals her but it doesn’t. She needs you to hold her dad. You bowed to your fucking knee and
asked her to marry you; so since when is it her fucking fault? I’m shaking and running and dying of thirst
from this shit, man. Let me know, man? What the fuck? I am shaking and trembling from the thought of
your break. You have a burden on your shoulder papa. You have a fucking entity in your thoughts that
tells you “It’s their loss.” Really, it’s yours. I can’t fuck with you sometimes, man. I call it quits at times,
man. You display a man in public, then you get hypnotized; by those childhood glooms and remedies
that prolong in your train of thought. I come home from school with a heavy ass backpack on my back
along with a heavy ass boulder on my back and a gorilla in my chest. Blades of bone cut through the rest
of my skin and leave a nigga bleeding. “Thanks, dad.” I said. “Anytime, son.” Papa said.
Chapter 9:
DOG.
This is deeper than Harriet Tubman. This is AMERICAN GOVERNANCE. Throw our people (blacks) in jail.
Try to deprive us from our natural betterness of the predominant race (whites). It is impossible to do. I
know exactly what the white man is doing. We overcame slavery. We overcame Jim Crow. So he takes
some crack and put it on that shattered block in the heart of the projects. Little boys standing outside in
six inches of snow outside of Marcy. Ash on their knuckles, crack in their palms, and iron in their coat.
Ready to sell. We fell for the white man’s trap. But while he rides on the outskirts of your hood, you’re
steady holding the heat to you brother’s head over a dollar, you don’t even realize the real person you
should be trying to kill is that white man driving on the outskirts. Now I’m not new to this at all. I just
want to shine a light.
Just think of jail. The United States has mass incarceration rates that are completely absurd in
other countries. These penitentiaries are filled with African Americans. This is why we cannot submit to
the white man’s plan to keep us enslaved. Look, if you’re out here committing a crime, you’re just being
profit for the white man. You get locked up, the man above gets money and spreads wealth to his own.
This is where black people mess up most. We do not stick together. Maybe if we were stricter on our
own people and pushed for more beneficial things…we’d give the white race a run for their money. But
as of now, it is just pitiful. Our world is stacked and the cards are dealt.
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Bryndon Minniefield
Email: bryndon.minniefield@cityhigh.org
BLANK PAGE
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Bryndon Minniefield
Email: bryndon.minniefield@cityhigh.org
Chapter 10:
beaches
America, the beauty; land of the free…the land of freelance and independence so to be, if that’s the case
then who the fuck is living free? Living with a less weighted load than me? The white construction paper
being used but the black is never touched. People from every single race don’t even know how to
conduct – a simple creation with colored pencils watercolor the define it…the pigment in their mouth
moves senselessly as the pigment in their skin do the real talking. A fucked up negligence. Open up the
heaven-sent…talent…that holds within the skin of the goblin. Black man, black excellence…we pimp a
butterfly…then we intense driven mind thoughts. The line is crossed once we were institutionalized. It’s
hard to do good; but I don’t wanna see my mama cry. Whether it’s at my graduation from high school
and college. Or if I’m laying dead in the street and in my stomach is a 12-gauge cartilage. I got blood
oozing out. My life is running out. Niggas killing each other, there’s no good to think about. What’s
coming out of this, discontinue of my own race? Another rich white man winning an election race?
Another black man turning his back on his own race? Another Nascar driver complaining about a lost
race? Michelle Alexander has a lot of talent but not enough to leave someone’s brain leaking blood and
sitting in dead silence, tread softly. Free from pain, free from scars, free my dawgs, am I free to go? The
block is hot, the world is cold, my heart is cold, and you made me this way. I don’t appreciate. I didn’t
ask to be here but now I’m here to stay. Listen to what I have to say.
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Bryndon Minniefield
Email: bryndon.minniefield@cityhigh.org
Chapter 11:
Churches Gospel
These days I’m taking shits in the middle of the street
No longer respect the world ‘cause they don’t respect me
Open up a bottle of liquor and drown in it because my uncle dead
Roll up some weed and inhale the laced shit because my uncle did
Fuck, open up another bottle of liquor and drown in it because my uncle did
These days I call myself a nigga
I’m ignorant as fuck and lacksadaisy from the preaching that the church gave me
Rolled up and released like the bullets that the Ferguson cop released, nigga
Adopt more words than children out this bitch
Unconventional standard of writing out this bitch
Angles watching over me out this bitch
These days I pop a lid off before I lift off to further my education
I’d rather have a flat tire in the hood than claim any relations
My brother from another is dreading from his past relations
Who the fuck said to fall in love, it’s way too complicated
These days I find myself listening to Rock n’ Roll
You know, the black guy on drugs with the afro
He has a name but not according to society
A black man with talents is some kind of foreign propriety
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Bryndon Minniefield
Email: bryndon.minniefield@cityhigh.org
These days its different toilet but the same old shit
Sometimes the shit is different but the toilet ain’t fixed
I’m tied up with my hands under my ass, my foot on the gas of a GMC Denali coming straight after yo’
ass, nigga
Writing styles and words don’t formulate, nigga
Sooner or late, it’ll all make sense, nigga
After all, what’s the point of lent, nigga
We all gon’ die anyway so fuck it, respect it never let it
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Bryndon Minniefield
Email: bryndon.minniefield@cityhigh.org
Chapter 12:
WATER
Water is the central part of the world. Water is the reason why niggas and regular folk grow old. Water
gave life to the plant. Water is the reason why oceans aren’t considered land. Water is the thing that
cools us down. Water brings us poetry as it goes down. Water gives the soul to the lake. Water is the
reason Moses is in the bible. Water is the reason why Jesus is so spectacular. If there was no water, he
would’ve never walked on it. Water is the king. The numerator. Water is the biggest underdog. No one
appreciates it until they’re in frantic need of it. I’m good. I take a sip of water…a sip of juice…a sip of tea;
I never showed my appreciation for it. Water is in everything. Water makes you live. Water makes them
live. Water has us institutionalized to where it is so crucial; but we don’t even cherish it. We don’t even
fully know what we’re drinking. But it is keeping us alive.
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Bryndon Minniefield
Email: bryndon.minniefield@cityhigh.org
Chapter 13:
DREAMN
I am homeless. As I lie on the cold concrete of downtown Pittsburgh and my ashy ankles lay roughly on
the cold grate that lets out a musty smell. Every night I have a bad dream. A bad dream that erupts
within my brain. I think about the time I lost my wife in that fire. The fire ate her body and soul like a
lion’s family that haven’t been fed. I turn over; as I turn over my skin scrapes off of the concrete. It
burns. My teeth haven’t been brushed in quite some time. They’re beginning to decay. My skin is getting
rashes. I had a decent life before that fire. This stuff is out of my reach. I am so sick of this life. I want to
end it. That is just what I get for walking past all of those homeless people downtown. How could I be so
selfish? Fuck. It’s hard to keep track of the days and months. Not too many people stop and talk to you –
I’ve noticed. Well, no matter how cool and thin the air is becoming, I clinch to the concrete and feel the
warmth of my wife holding me. I like to think that my wife is now the Goddess of Fire since that fire ate
her alive. I love you, babe. The next day I woke up with a sore throat and burning eyes. My stomach was
in pain and my ankles were exposed to the unexpected dangerously cold weather. Shit. Where was I
going to go for warmth? I tried going in restaurants but they told me I had to leave because I was
stinking up the place. I thought, is this how all homeless people are treated? We’re no longer human
beings to society. We are animals. They may as well put us in the zoo exhibits; at least we’ll be fed. I
tried to stand up on my own two feet but my ankles gave out. I broke my left ankle and my right ankle
was crushed by a ledge that from our house in the fire. I soon became very nauseous and my stomach
felt like it was full of fluid. I crawled to a bench close to Fort Duquesne Boulevard. As soon I made it
there, vomit rushed out of my mouth and padded the cold pavement. I began to cry as all of the fluid
rushed out of me. In the matter of seconds, I was covered in blood, vomit, and urine. Lord knows what
else. I thought I was finished but it continued. My body was tired and battered. I left the area limping in
excruciating pain. I made it to Liberty Avenue. I sat down on the ground and thought about how I can
not be homeless anymore. I just wanted to get myself back on my feet. I didn’t like people feeling sorry
but I literally had no money. Everyone thought I was a crack fiend. Begging for the next dollar, any coin I
could get. To feed my addiction, I would do anything. They were wrong. I am a man who lost everything
from a house fire. As I sat down, I noticed a lot of people wearing business clothes and children in their
school uniforms; I figured it must be midafternoon. I tried to lie low because I smelled like vomit and
had blood all over my dirty t shirt. I looked like I have never been raised or taught anything; I was just
fed to the jungle after birth. I began getting extremely hungry; I haven’t had the slightest bit of food in 9
days. All I’ve been able to scrap up were some pieces of bread on the ground that was thrown out for
the pigeons to eat. I was lying down as everyone passed by. I saw a shadow standing over me. I looked
up; it was a tall, white man with a trench coat, dark brown loafers, a freshly dry cleaned suit, and
slickened hair. His wrist watch was the finest and purest hue of gold. It blinded me with a beautiful
glare. He literally looked like he came straight from Wall Street. The man dropped a brown paper bag
next to me. I could tell there wasn’t anything in there from the lightness of it. The man walked away
after he dropped it. I tried to get a last glimpse at him but the crowd of people interfered. I was fed up
with the bag. It was so light that the wind could’ve blown it away. I was upset because I could tell there
was no food in there. I opened the bag and looked inside of it. There was a folded piece of paper. I
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Bryndon Minniefield
Email: bryndon.minniefield@cityhigh.org
opened the paper and there was a PNC Bank debit card taped to the piece of paper. On the piece of
paper, there was a note. The note included all of the card information. Then there was another note at
the very bottom of the paper. It read, “I know your story, I know your crisis, I know who you are. You are
Bryndon Minniefield. I am the Corporate Owner of the Graphic Design firm you worked at – you know,
the one in Canada? Toronto? But anyway, when I was told the real reason why you were fired, I was
furious. How could someone do that? You survived that fire for a reason. So I am here to help. I hope
that debit card would do. I placed 2 million dollars of my own money and 3 million dollars of the
company money inside of your account. I sued them and took them to court. I won the case, as you can
see. But anyway, I want you to come by my house and get the court papers once you get on your feet so
you can see valid proof. But not to hold you up, your struggles are over. It is time to start a new chapter.
No more pain my friend, enjoy life and keep in touch. Take care, Justin E. Franklin.”
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Bryndon Minniefield
Email: bryndon.minniefield@cityhigh.org
Chapter 14:
what happened to you…
You used to be talented. A talented intellectual type of girl. You used to care about yourself as well as
others. Now you just don’t give a fuck about anyone. Anyone in your way, you will take out. You used to
be on a pedestal in my mind to where you were so high up, you stepped on the heads of every god that
has ever existed. I’m internal bleeding. Do you care? No. Of course not. You’ve found a “better love.” A
love that is so much better, you are willing to kill yourself to be with that person. You are around people
you would’ve never hung around in 9th grade. I just don’t know who you are anymore. I loved you. You
were my first. Cylie Snyder, you were my first. My first love…my first everything. Every single stroke,
every single kiss, every single touch and smirk meant something to me. I can clearly see you can care
less. But I still care, otherwise I wouldn’t be writing this shit. I have Christiana but you’ve introduced me
to this love shit. My life wouldn’t be all of this without you the way I look at it. You brought this art out
of me. Look at this chapter…it is a beautiful story. But I have to say fuck you. I’m moving on. You no
longer respect your lady parts. Your vagina is tired of being stretched by me and Phil. Make up your
mind…me or him. Matter of the fact, pick him or someone else because I am out of the equation. But I
must say. Your sexual tendencies were pleasuring to me. You knew the right spots. Those moments
meant so much to me but the way you come and go it seems like that is all you want. Well, fuck you. I
am finally realizing who you really are. I love your sisters. I have nothing against your parents. You’re the
problem. I miss those 9th grade days when we’d stay up all night and just talk on the phone on a
Saturday. Those times are gone now…history. I guess everything that glitters isn’t gold? I took you on
countless dates. I drove you places. I came to your house. I spent so much money and everything was
thrown in my face. Did you realize, you’ve never spent a birthday with me? I don’t even remember the
last time you wished me a happy birthday. I am just scared for what your future holds. I am afraid of
what you will encounter. You are a careless lover. That can be dangerous. Take care.
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