...as a manic depressive, cynical, and spiteful ten year old. My writings were generally hateful, suicidal, and full of anger. I was a bit of an outcast and I had a horrible relationship with my parents. I felt like there was nothing for me in this world and hated virtually everything. I managed to find something I wrote at this time, it's titled "Your Eyes"

what do i see when i look in your eyes?
i see a life filled with deceit and lies;
what do i see when i open my eyes?
i see a house empty, no surprise;
cause your never here;
when i need you;
your only here when you need me;
and im always here;
when you need me;
but now i've had it;
its your turn;
to open your eyes to an empty house;
and ill never be there for you again;
when you need me;
mother always did say;
that i had your eyes.

This piece is not as angry as my writings tended to be at the age of ten, so I'm assuming I wrote this at around the age of eleven, where I was less angry and more exhausted... but, regardless, still very angry.

Fast forward to the age of sixteen. By this time, I had met and developed a very strong bond with a few people that had a rough time in life as well, the majority of them had it much worse than me. I admired their strength and their ability to overcome any obstacle in life. When I was sixteen, the mother figure of this group committed suicide (R.I.P. Sarah). She always took the time to help us sort through our issues, even if she was being crushed by the burden of her own problems. In the end, she couldn't handle it and we were too self-absorbed to realize that she wasn't as strong as we thought.

Sarah, I couldn't believe my ears, when I heard the news
To me you were so strong, I never thought that you would lose
But I guess death wins, in the end over us all
Yet it's still hard to swallow, though you knew that you would fall
You were there for me, in my stages of depression
You were there for me, when I was contemplating leaving
You were there. add a period at the end too
You were there, plain and simple, yet I wasn't there for you

I never thought you would...
thought that you would leave...
but now that your gone...
I can't let you go unsung...

"I always want to be in your life, even if it's only as a memory,
As long as it's one that makes you smile." that's what you said to me
As if you knew this day would come, your just a memory now
I look back in time, and think to myself, wow
There was an angel in my presence, and I didn't know
But I realize it now, I wish you didn't have to go
It's like I'm running to bring you back, but my speed is just to slow
And I'm still turning in my bed, I can't believe that your no more

I never thought you would...
thought that you would leave...
but now that your gone...
I can't let you go unsung...

I saw you last night, in a dream I had
I think I smiled through that dream, I've never felt so glad
But my alarm clock screamed, a rude awakening
I look to God for answers, “why have you taken her from me?”
They say they're sorry for my loss, but I doubt they really know
When I was going through hard times, you're the only person I would go
And share how I really felt, honestly speaking from my heart
Remembering from the end of our friendship, to the very start
I cant help but feel grief, I've never felt like this
Rest in peace, Sarah Kim, April two thousand and six
And even though your gone, we will never be apart
Because in my heart, you've forever left a mark

I never thought you would...
thought that you would leave...
but now that your gone...
I can't let you go unsung...

Her death was a huge wake up call to many of us, but the effect wasn't positive at all. One of us attempted suicide, but was rushed to the hospital and managed to be saved. The rest of us entered a phase where we were just drained and felt helpless. If you are Christian, you are probably familiar with the concept of the rock. We were told to build our church on the rock and not the sand, with the rock being symbolic of Jesus. Well at this point in my life, Sarah was my rock. I couldn't put my faith in something that wasn't tangible to me. As the second oldest in our close group, I started taking on the responsibilities that Sarah had, along with Yoomi. At this point, I started taking my writings more seriously. I was constantly pushing myself to grow lyrically and technically, especially since it was my only outlet. I quickly went from someone with potential, to a favorite in the community I joined. My style also grew to be more reflective and melancholy, yet there was a key weakness that really bothered me. I was incapable of writing anything that didn't have to do with Sarah or mentioned her in some way. As time passed, I was able to get out of that rut and started searching for my own style. The last thing I wanted to do was sound like every other self-proclaimed artist who thinks he has talent. This search led me to take a break from writing songs and start studying the "greats" of Rap music  (Tupac, Big L, Big Pun, Biggie, GZA, Rakim, Raekwon, etc.) while exploring the world of poetry. I began song writing again, but this time it wasn't just about my life - I began storytelling as well. Fusing my knowledge of poetry and Rap together, I started writing in a way that made some people question if it was really Rap and made others question if it was really poetry. Honestly, at this point in my life, I don't really see any distinction between the two.

Last year, Yoomi commited suicide. I gave myself a day to mourn and then I fronted like I was strong so that everyone else in my group would be able to find comfort in me. To be completely honest, it hurt more than anything and I quit writing for a while.

A couple months later, I decided to go to Borders and buy a book to read since I havn't read for fun in a while. I looked up some books on their website and picked out three books I was interested in. I went to the store and looked around for the books - nothing. All three books were completely sold out. I thought it was pretty ridiculous, these weren't even marked as best sellers, what are the odds? So I started browsing around for another book, and this one book kept catching my eye. I picked it up, glanced at it, put it down, and looked elsewhere. But for some reason, I kept on being drawn to that book. So I finally gave in, bought the book, and went home. The book was "The Shack" by William P. Young, and it was an amazing read. The book was about a father who's youngest daughter was kidnapped and murdered. [book spoiler alert] Years later, he gets a letter from God telling him to spend a weekend with him in a cabin. There was one scene in this book that really hit me. The Holy Spirit (personified as a person) put the images of the fathers family in front of him. She told him that he could save everyone in his family, but one person. He was given a limited amount of time to decide who he would damn to Hell. The father was distressed and eventually collapsed in tears saying that he can't bear to send any one of them to Hell. I cried. When Yoomi commited suicide, part of me blamed God. I felt that she deserved better and it was unfair that she had to deal with so much pain when there are so many bad people out there living better lives. For the first time in my life, I felt like God felt the pain I felt. If we're all considered God's children, then isn't it only logical that he feels pain when we are in pain? This began the rebuilding of my faith and if you're wondering, yes, I do believe that book wound up in my hands for a reason.

I began writing again and while I wrote in the same style I developed before, the purpose was noticeably different. No, I don't write "Christian" music and I'm not a Christian rapper by any means. I'm simply a rapper that's Christian. I still write about suicide, death, and every other topic I used to write about. The difference is that now it's from a wiser, more mature, and humbler perspective.

And that is how I've developed into the artist I am today. Summarized that is.
If you go to previous blogs, you'll be able to read my more recent writings =]

One day I was going to 7-11 late at night with my friends. I saw a homeless man sitting outside and I had an urge to go talk to him, slide him a few bills... But I didn't. I just walked past him. I wrote this song with him in mind (written a little over a year ago). As with all my works, it's under constant revision.


the dirt kicks up... as his feet hit dirt
bare skin contact, shoes are twice his worth
dragged along in tattered clothes, his heart had just as many holes
falling apart at the seams, provided little protection from the cold
he was middle aged - not quite, but almost old
with a brittle build, probably 'cause he had no food in his bowl
pushing his shopping cart filled with life's discarded arts
he could paint Mona's but he relies on the pigments to nourish his heart
had something in common with his treasures - he was discarded himself
cast away by a world that gravitates towards wealth
and there's no chance for help, cause he doesn't have the insurance
the trickle down system is clogged where people are poorest
i found him begging near 7-11, imagine how you'd feel
holding his sign that said “three french fries short of a happy meal”
and i just walked past him... like he wasn't real
and you all walk past him... like he doesn't exist

i wonder what he sees every night as he's shivering
there's cold and colder, so cold is warm by relativity
birth is sacred, but afterbirth fates are always differing
they just assume that he has no dream, 'cause take a look at him he just seems
broken like pure light that kissed the prism physically
where prisms are frozen tears that once traveled - glistening
down... does he have family or friends anywhere?
if he does then how could they just leave him there

... and then he has to put up with our mockery...
how can he get a job, when jobs refuse people in poverty
if it was as easy as deciding to go work few shifts
then that would be the end of unemployment - wouldn't it?
[do you have some change... sir, some coins to spare?
do you have some... spare change, some coins to spare?]

a rainbow is beautiful to look at, but painful to touch
when his inner light hits prism, it'll be too much
a cruel fate for someone blessed with the beauty of life
like an egg that was laid by its mother in midflight
stirred awake on a windshield, erased with a wipe
the mechanical arm robs the child of it's basic right
breathing, but inside he's hollowed out like an instrument
the wind plays his body, but we can't hear the pitch

i wonder what he feels every night as he's shivering
this world is harsh or harsher, so harsh is kind by relativity
and kindness is rarely given, like different perspectives in religion
so he wastes away with concrete constructions... as everyones reflection