Don’t Die: by Chance Drake

DON’T DIE. Here I am in plain sight, headed towards the light, fighting back with all my might.

Despite my effort, I’m losing traction, life is in his hands and I can’t seem to grasp it. Now I’m asking in what aspect was I lacking? I didn’t have time to write wrongs in the present and past tense. So much that could have happened, now a sudden end like misplaced period to send me packing. No more questions, thanks for asking. No more communication like a parent that’s lacking. Flatline and balance parallels are connecting.

My people are dying, a conversation you are neglecting until it’s you and yours we’re talking. Hush tones are the whispers, you’re the type to crack an egg even on Easter. No, this goes hard, this is my white beater. No, this is the wave I’m a crowd-pleaser. Stay alive, stay alive is all I’m hearing, 23 and counting is how I’m feeling. Walk the line, stay behind, cross the line and DONT DIE.

DON’T DIE. Still, I rise. You could never truly understand how I feel inside.

To see the city’s finest and feel the need to duck and hide. But who am I to want better for me? Who am I to think about how much better I can be? This is how I feel, you can’t just ignore it. If I dunked or ran a touchdown would you score it? I’m sorry for the poor rich, with morals in shortage, the price of a good soul even they couldn’t afford it. It’s a vicious circle, and around we go again this heart is my pen and each time I have to bleed to write again.

Hold tight, I hold on for dear life, in spite of the forces against me, I still decide to strike. In the end, the enemy always wins. We still have to fight. DON’T DIE.

About Author

Founder & Editor-in-Chief. National Association of Black Journalists. University of Central Oklahoma.

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