The State

  Whew my goodness the morning sun looks nice. Ah shit I hate it when the strap of my bra scratches the edge of my elbow. Let me tell you once I get my bag with my coat and matching scarf I'm out the door. Right when I'm getting ready to bounce I hear a small, loud, high pitch voice of Nigerian descent yelling "Mecca. Mecca Obademi please come home on time and please pick up your brother." Oh God. Yes momma.  

  As soon as I open the door of my building the fresh smell of gunfire hit my nostrils. This may sound crazy to most but I kind of like this aroma. I've gotten so immune to it to the point that a morning wouldn't be the same without it. Where the smell of this aroma comes from is a mystery to media outlets and news anchor. Well to me and my peers there is no mystery. All it is something simple but the police tormenting civilians and the civilians fighting back.  

  While trying to enjoy my "dysfunctional" morning I feel someone come from behind me almost touching my ass. I quickly turn around to say excuse me and I see a police officer. Standing three feet away from me a white, red haired perve was staring right in my face. I would yell as loud as I could ever saying "well aren't you going to say excuse me."

  This motherfucka's response was even more shell shocking. He got the nerve to say "well can you get out of the way so I can serve and protect please." I just don't know what it was but I just exploded like a firecracker. I could've swung on that pig. Luckily my girl Fatima held me back. The officer walked steadily passed to run to his patrol wagon.  

  Walking trying to cool off towards a bus that I just missed Fatima was holding my arm in a lovers posture. Pacing back and fourth I started asking questions like why does prejudice and bigotry hide behind service and patriotism? What is the true meaning of white supremacy? Why do white people in positions of authority tend to look down one other minorities (which includes women)? What in the world would make that red haired, pink skinned, freckled face, pig of a cop grind behind me like that? Shit come to think about it I couldn't blame him. Hijabs makes women of color sexy.

  Huh thank you God. A Bx.31 just pulled up. While riding the bus a glimpse of the neighborhood precinct catches my eye. Seeing the whole entire structure from the brick layer, bullet-proof windows, long flighted stairs, even the military styled uniforms of the officers uniquely astound me. Well, that's New York's finest for you.

   The sight of this will only make a sane person ask the question of how come you have this military-like precinct right across from a project housing complex and still have civil unrest? The answer to this is a thousand mysteries.

  So the bus stops right near the elevator which caused traffic to awkwardly come to a stir. As me and Fatima walk up the stairs we hear the train coming. The minute this happens both myself and her say "ah shit" all at once. When I tell you we raced I mean it. The speed on our feet resembled The Tasmanian Devil in full action.  

  Damn we got lucky. If it wasn't for my strong legs we would've been assed out. I also tried to bother Fatima on her weak stamina but she wasn't having it.  

  Hmm don't you love the New York City Transit System. Almost ten stops have passed and the only thing you can hear is police sirens. Oh this is nothing just another "dysfunctional" part of my mornings. By the time the train approached Simpson Street I felt depressed and Fatima hugged me as she flew right through the cart door. Being forced to be ripped away from a love one cuts deep like a open battle womb. You see besides my mom and little brother Fatima is all I have. I know my peers out in my hood will agree with me on this one. This means that there's always one person from your the avenue, block, or your neighborhood that reminds you of who you are and where you come from. Fatima fits the prescription just right.  

  3rd Ave is a mess. These cops be crawling out like roaches. I almost got shook by one of them staring at me. The look of one of those officers face said tons of things from tons of issues such as gender, religion, and most definitely race.

  The next stop would be 149 Grand Concourse and I had to switch to the 5 train. The sad part about my journey to NYU is that the color line ends after 125th Street. The most awkward thing happened when the train stopped at 125th and that was the look on the faces of other young black and brown faces. The looks on their faces displayed a worried readiness that most of their white counterparts would never understand. Surprisingly I always saw this kind of face and knew what it meant. Did I ever wear this face? Maybe so.  

  After spending more than an hour on public transportation I finally get off at my destination Union Square also known as "The Shackles."  

  In this melting pot of immigrants from all over chaos also erupts. The whole nine yards happens here from cops harassing Blacks and Arabs to white northern nationalist beating up and spitting at Koreans and Hispanics (telling then to go back to their countries in the process). Seeing this every Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday makes me want to say where's the justice? Nowhere if you ask me. At this point I knew that the arc would be the mark of the beast itself.    

  Like I said before the arc was trouble waiting to happen and not a person can dodge it if they wanted too. The environment of this once beautiful arc has changed from pure Casper white to plain dysfunction and vandalism. For some awkward reason the current scene would make my elder's proud. The sight was so amazing that I had to record it on my phone.    

  Dead smack in the middle of Washington Square Park I see students with those same faces that I saw on 125th Street going head to head with police officers. The media may want to know what were they fighting for? I'll tell them loud and clear: FREEDOM. Freedom of choice. Freedom of religion. Freedom of selectivity. Freedom of sexual orientation. Last but not least freedom to live. Live not simply to walk, sleep, eat, and breathe but to go on everyday being different doing what your doing like it's your last time doing it.

  Most of the world has yet to see and know what the state is or what it's like to live in one. they might be turning a blind eye or just don't give a damn but than the only word we must live by is: Resist.- (Work from Notes About Nothing, 2/21/2017)