As a tribute to Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., I in fact forgot that today his birthdate would be nationally recognized. I often impersonate a writer because I feel that I should – so I write. And because of that I often lose track of my days, as if I daydream going through life. It’s simple. And like Dr. King dreamt, so do we all. Because we all want peace and joy.

Back in Dr. King’s day however, most people didn’t know how to speak on peace, happiness, equality, so he did it on a lot of other people’s behalf. And thus, he had a following like no other social media account today. Millions of people heard him speak without any of the social mediums today. His speech, “I Have A Dream” however, was spoken from a place where millions of Americans would listen. Whether or not he knew that beforehand, it wouldn’t matter because that’s how he felt anyway. It was strong.

Since we can still hear the dream today, it proves that dreams do not end when we wake up; dreams do not end when you are shot or dead. People just forget and start shooting again.

In May 2016, I visited the location Dr. King was shot dead at. History as told, ended a dream here in history – as it’s sold. And I differ. Because once you have a dream, you’re often curious to know how it ends – good or bad, you gotta’ know right? So, unless you are a hater, a racist, or in chronic victimization then you would not care to see how some people’s dream happily in fact continue each day.

I stood below where a body was once shot dead; where the biggest dream in America was arguably in attempt to be shot dead.

National Civil Rights Museum – at the Lorraine Motel (Memphis, TN)

But I refused to accept it, because I must be living it.

What if we all had a dream? Personally, I would not tell the world. The world would shoot it and laugh at me. My point is, I do not care what the people think of my dreams. I’ve written them down already.

And I’m not the ‘vision board’ type dreamer. I envision what feels right. Which has inspired me often to write.

I dreamt what Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. believed, and he was my age dreaming of a world in peace. But most the people did not agree.

And likely for hire, someone showed the people with their piece.

You can shoot me today, and I’ll have died living my dreams in peace. I recon most cannot say that, because so far, failure is their choice to be.

Failure as a choice; because if they have not shoot you, yet, you still have the chance to dream your dream today.

It’s your choice.

I wrote my dreams down on paper, accomplished them all thus far. Now the people cannot rewrite what I’ve accomplished so far. I write a lot of words to confuse readers from a far.

But if you read all my words so far, you will think of me as a phony; playing a persona, driving my fancy car.

The truth is, I’m not a writer. But you’ll read a lot of my words written like a fighter.

With that said, I’m not a fighter. But ask the amateurs I spar, because I fight like a martyr.

I’ll fuck with your expectations, far like Dr. King did. He spoke his dreams not caring if it ended him dead. He knew that in a decade of leaders and politicians suddenly and often shot dead, it would not be until he was dead, that his dream would globally be heard and said.

Shoot and kill thee, I’ll explain why you did it in 2020.

But I beg don’t shoot and kill me. Like I silently twice asked two black officers not to, since I was arrested but still daydreaming.

What they’ll do is try and sell my dreams with fuel, but that’s like playing with fire next to fuel. Often like watching social media’s following fools, repost and replay the gunshots into our brothers’ souls, and the culture’s fuel.

Their souls were fire, but a gunshot put out that burning fire. Often accidentally by those ‘gun happy’ fools firing.

Because I’m the type that knows how to play with fire. It’s best in the dark.

Dark like the dead? Yes, because they are light when their name is said. When my generation is announced shot and dead, you’ll notice an enlarged thought on my head.

Because it’s big. Even more today dreaming for the younger black boys who were shot and dead. Nothing like what Dr. King’s dream entirely said.

Maybe he said that silently, before the piece that shot him dead.

Who’s the victim? My history or yours?

Ironically it doesn’t matter. History is a collection of fancy words and verbs. Stories told by those who owned land and gold. Hear the stories from the poor, and the majority of it is how America’s systems are racist and old.

Like Mr. Jefferson ever envisioned a Dr. King’s story making it to the people. They didn’t write the constitution for a black man’s story ever to make it to the people, but rather be sold by the people.

Because they’ll record my brother’s being shot and killed by the people. Sell it as if we’re artifacts brought over here to be sold by the people.

See where wordplay takes you?

What’s a black man making money off his voice? A rapper or a preacher? A radio host or motivational guest speaker?

The one who hates, is the one who creates.

If any of the people hate, the weak ones show it with a piece to the face. Whether or not it be theirs, it’s a result of America’s growing disgrace.

Remember you are not fighting a system; you are not fighting laws on paper. But rather a system of people who believe what’s on paper.

So, dream as if another black man in his 30s inspired you to dream greater.


Feature photo by Jerónimo Bernot on Unsplash

Born and raised in Portland, Oregon, Budd writes to encourage readers to explore the depths of their inner ocean, an unexplored self, because it's fun once you get through the emotional part... “The world around us is our vehicle, what you'll read is how I digest it.” -Budd

2 Comment on “Letter From The King (M.L.K. Tribute)

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