This One Hops

Watch Out

Trigger warning: Abuse. Rape. Cutting. Pills in food. No sugar here.

Love. Hate. Truth. Lies. Heroes. Villains. Black. White.
That’s what the algorithm wants. That’s what the reader wants.
Make it easy. Make it digestible. Make it simple.
Yeah, okay.

Algorithm. Substack. TikTok. Instagram. Get ready to flinch and look away.
But reader, viewer, listener, will you?
I’m sure no more likes, loves, comments.
Don’t let my voice crush your toes.

Announced was gone before I arrived.
Put my childish things away when I grew up two weeks later.
Took notes on how to. Highlighted and annotated the margins.
Studied for the end of childhood start of growing up.

Told would never amount. Never arrive. An embarrassment for trying.

Grabbed in places I didn’t know could be grabbed.
Touched where the young shouldn’t be touched.
As I walked through the school hallway.
Oh, is that what that does?
Is that how boys and girls behave?
That’s normal?

Wish I learned sooner the language of love
Was really just the physicality of force.

But knew didn’t have it in me. Didn’t feel right.
Head went further into the shell. Scary out there.

Learned my worth and value didn’t exist.
Unless being “useful,” “helpful,” or “thank you for being a friend.”
Became more invisible, more quiet. More comfortable.
Silent support, smile and nod, affirm and agree. The boat didn’t rock.
Made it float and gave it wind.
Never asked but what about me?

Stayed in the part. A background player. In my lane. Static and flat.

Had my head smashed into metal, bones to jaws, arms to pavement.
Fire pokers to eyes, knives pulled, chased. Wasn’t even in grade six.
Told once. Oh, that’s funny. You got me. We know you have no worries.
Not a care in the world. You’re so solid. Thanks for that. We needed it.

Who knew one of the heroes would be the con?
The coach, later convicted felon.
Friend’s dad. Never touched a player.
Believed in the team, made me believe in me.
He did terrible, awful atrocities,
But he also helped me rediscover me.
He’s not getting out, all are safe now.
Still not the man I knew.

Uhoh he’s getting grayer, no clear hero or villain.

Am I banned yet?

Until they saw couldn’t. What did they do for me?
They crushed up meds in my drink and food.
Made me need it. Made the introduction to my blood.
Was 14.

Broke some glass and cut where it wouldn’t be seen.
As all the focus went to the others.

Piped down, kept low. They saw it, rubbed their hands, said let’s go.
Shoved from behind, shoved back much harder.
Angrier, snappier, no more not ever.
Rejected, ate lunch in the stall. Shit was better than other company.

Toes were squashed. Feathers flew. Ears went down. Here it came.
Never to anyone who didn’t need it or start it.

You’re a loose cannon. You’re unpredictable. Who’s next?

Fuck if I know, but my targets don’t miss.
Show me collateral damage. Right, there is none.
It’s just survival, it’s not even fun.

Then came the one who got it. Held me. Loved me.
Explained all that went wrong. How they couldn’t see.
Only she was fifteen plus years my senior.
My friend’s stepmom. For her too easy.

Tried to get out. Again and again. How did I end up with her alone?
So many times? So many ways? Seeing so much?
What a 16 to 18 year old boy shouldn’t be seeing.

Oh right, hated my house. Had no home.
Was there all the time. With one of my few friends.
While she set the scenes to take take take.

It took a divorce and a deployment to make it end.
Seven years later. The damage, warping, grooming, rewiring done.

During that time flipped it.
Used my knowledge, learning, skills, and pain.

Español es emoción.
Français c’est la résistance.
Italiano è cultura.
English is bullshit.

Then was a teacher. Those who broke me down, guess what?
Was now teaching your kids to read and write.
Not that kind of story. Had their backs.
Your kids rebuilt what you tore down.
Gen Z, Gen Alpha. Shit. They’re more than X and Millennials.

They may save us all.

From ourselves.

Hate violence.
Hate sex.
Hate anger.
Hate hate.
Hate justice.

All the above weaponized and used to break me down.
Turns out they’re not all bad all the time.
Who knew?
Not me.

Hip hop is the language of survival.
Music’s a character. A myth.
It has an intro. And an end.
When an MC raps?
They break the fourth, fifth, sixth walls.
Say who it’s for. Where they were.
Invite you in.
Show the why. Burn the need. Fuck the how.

Shit wasn’t allowed to hear it or listen.
Was bad, they hate the police, I think they said fuck?
Never say the n word or refer to women as a dog or body part.

Will take the rest.

Watch me drop these bars and spit some truth.
Come back to my world, if you dare.
It’s scary here. There’s no place to hide. There are predators lurking.
Worry not. See the monster now. They don’t see me coming.

Not safe. Risky. Dangerous.
Oh let’s split those bars the beat’s too long.
Will keep you safe and protected in this world.
No enemy will even get close.
It’s second nature now, can’t help it.

Wrote this beat in under ten
While my students were in homeroom.
Notes on paper? Prebeat? A hook ready?
No. Nada. Niente. Non.

Come on algorithm, Substack, TikTok, Instagram.
Bury me deeper than six.

Remembered this in under ten, no plan, no plot.
Imagine how many more have in me.
What if took a minute to think?
If didn’t do it by thumb feel.
Shiiiiiiit. You know that means more’s coming.

Reader, listener, viewer, it’s done.
Catch your breath. Relax. Exhale.
Unclench your asshole.
Hope your toes are comfy.

Dare you to leave a comment or a like.

We both know you won’t.