I hate the way crack smells. To be honest with you, it smells like shit. Just remembering it now makes me want to run to my bathroom and vomit. What’s even worse than the way crack smells when you’re smoking it, when you’re lighting up the darkness one flicker at a time, is the way the YOU smell like shit too. Even worse still, is the way you treat your family — the one that most everybody knows about, not the one that you made on the other side of town — the way you treat them like shit. The shitty things you’d do. Like beat the shit ouf of your woman only to then rape her repeatedly and profess it to be love. Or how you beat the shit out of a young man in the cloak of darkness with a 2×4 until he begged for his life under those grandfather oak trees. You beat him for no earthly reason at all. Or maybe you beat him because he saw you that night doing shitty things to his sister and threatened to tell.
I hate the way crack smells.
They say that one’s sense of smell is the most sensitive and that it is more closely linked to one’s memory even moreso than one’s sense of sight. The olfactory sense can be so powerful that it will conjur up a picutre in your head so vivid that you’d swear you could touch it. I often have those experiences. For instance, if I smell spearmint gum, immediately I get a picture of my beloved grandmother wading through her purse to find a piece for me. Her purse, her clothes all smelled like the sweet treat. I LOVE the smell of spearmint gum! I’m sad sometimes that that picture isn’t alive anymore. Sad that the smell of my grandmother’s spearmint gum was no match for the profuse smells I would endure after her passing.
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I HATE the way crack smells!
Like shit! The same shit that would accumulate in the red bucket with all the piss that your shitty ass dumped in the back of that shitty, broken down, delapidated, no plumbing having, electricity stealing house! The same shit that rotted your mind and that made you want to make everybody else’s life around you as shitty as yours. It was all a shitty situation! But thank God! I will never be the piece of shit that you tried to make me!
I HATE THE WAY CRACK SMELLS!
If you think you know, you have no idea.
I write this blog because it is my truth. It is the truth of where I came from. It is the truth that I lived. The truth will always be the truth. Lies, fabrication, and disillusions can vary, but the truth…IS! It is not shame! It is not guilt! It is not hypocrisy! It is not blame! It is not hate! In all actuality, I think it is love.
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This is a part of my testimony. I share this with you because I realize that when you look at me you see what you believe to be a finished product. All that glitters now, wasn’t always this shiny. I share this with you not as a victim, but as a survivor. As a witness to the power of prayer. As a believer in love…love of life…love of self…and love of others. I share this with you so that you know that no matter the hand you were dealt, you can always change your mind about playing it out or getting new cards. But most importantly, I share this with you in the hope that we can each live our truth. Not to try and outdo the other on who had it worse, but with the intention of love, say ‘Hey, I’ve been in the valley too and here I stand now to tell you of the value
