Hard times and shit ain’t nothing but a test of strength.

I remember when I quit I went righteous on some maze shit. I guess all them times I kicked it with em as a child done rubbed off. Lol. I was lost I was half way defeated and the only reason why I wasn’t defeated because of my bloodline and how I was raised. But I was at the breaking point. At the crossroad between giving up and going hard. My son was getting older my money was running out. I had assets and resources, there I was in my basement in my house on my land that was paid for but for some reason I felt I as if the walls was caving in. I felt as if I had failed. If I could have cried I would have. I tried. Nothing, nothing came out but I felt it I thought it. And in my basement I allowed my brain to stop working and give in I sat in the dark. I was scared. I was at a point where I believed if I quit my family my tribe and the people whom I whole dearly would be helpless the same people the same burden that had me to a point where I was burnt out I couldn’t let down. I had to man the fuck up. I respected the feeling of maybe being defeated. I looked it in the eye I felt it. In my basement alone in the dark, I felt it. I spit in that bitch face. I refused to be defeated never give up never give in. Never surrender. Wasn’t how I was raised my coaches, my parents, grand mothers auntie each and every old nigga from my hood even the junkies I served coming up believed in me. Who the fuck am I to let them down. I’ll be a fuck ass boy if I gave up. I got kids I got people who need me I remember telling myself. How the fuck imma cur up, Like a weak ass stray dog. Never.

Went to sleep and had a dream my dream was kind of cool but ever so real don’t know if it was my higher self or ancestors. In my dreams I received was simple.

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