Living my life in between doubled-margined lines, cleverly disguised as fair to all, yet only to some, the most belonging ones of this clandestine society. Nevertheless, it is the society blame as the pinpoint for my synthesized word usages within the lines of prophetic poetry. The gift of an art lending multiple meaning, yet truly effective when sincerely interpreted. And I, an ambassador, a master of the craft, have purposefully prepared this material to disturb you. I, a fellow sojourner of these streets of these oppressed communities, have purposefully riddled my tongue to touch tones deeply embedded in you. And should a tear fall, may it fall on behalf for anger instead of sadness, and lend madness to cause you to shake your head upon reflections of that which is truly sad-sad because of the audacity of statesmen servicing an apparent God-fearing country, cowardly functioning under the adrenalin of apparently doing evil-deeds to fuel their own happiness. And the irony of my work is that it makes me happy, it makes me see, it makes me believe that I have purpose here, and it causes me to breathe easily as I rip holes in these pages to deliver to you some of my best poetry-including my reflections during thirty for thirty. This shit here. My gift to move you from this forward through all your days forward. Keep your eyes on you path; but watch your ass.