Peaceful South Central

I'm not a man. Not considered one in the culture of my home. I'm not aggressive. I respect women and men.  I resort to words before my fist and that leads my society to view me as having lower masculinity.

I have those nights of deep thought. Typically torture of the heart attributed to some girl. I'm like a Roger Healey that way but I've never traveled the stars. On these nights when I must think, occupied with any variety of philosophical questions, I find it comforting to ride my castor board. The board glides over pavement with ease and takes little energy. It is an experience often compared to surfing.  It's smooth. It's peaceful. Being propelled by movements of my hips, it's the sort of leisurely activity that causes me to want to want to listen to A Tribe Called Quest. 

I skate around thoughtful but not mindful. I'm aimless but not lost. An hour in I see five young Black men. Boys my age and of the same diaspora. When I'm in the hood I always skate and never walk. Being on foot is for chumps. These boys were facing my way. We could have simply been passers by in a moonless night. But one diverged to the left of the others and when I sought to use the space he left empty to pass, he pushed me down. They were silent while forcing their bodies into intimidating poses. I don't bang. I got back on my board and skated hard. I sensed their puzzlement. I knew the leader, the one who pushed me, thought to run after. Just for a moment. But I wasn't a conquest for him. I wasn't and opposing male. Just some bitch nigga. He wouldn't gain status by lording over me. 

So I skated hard 'till I could perceive their red and black shirts only as I would perceive a lady bug's. I skated back crying. Like I always do when shit goes down. Because I'm sheltered. And I don't believe in that.

Maasai Mohandas Singleton

~ The Soft Spoken Rapper