For the last 8 months, I’ve been trying to put a band-aid over a bullet wound. I didn’t realize it until about an hour ago and since then, I’ve spent that time crying uncontrollably. Happy birthday right???? I guess so.

I can’t help but think about the eleven year old who wrote his first raps. He’d be shocked that I’m confident enough to ask people to come and listen to my music. That kid always knew he was special, he just didn’t know how to be anything but small.

I know for a fact I’m really really good at what I do. Better than most actually. But if I’m being honest, I could do a much better job of acting like the last two statements are true. Cause they are.

The first time I heard Solange’s When I Get Home, that voice saying “nothing without intention. do nothing without intention” hit me like a Mack truck. It was as poignant as a mother, as sharp and direct as a teacher, and as gentle and warm as a grandmother. It stayed with me. I worked harder, became more disciplined, but I hadn’t yet understood what intention truly meant.