The Real Wheel

The Real Wheel

My school moves like the ocean. It runs deep. The students come in and out like waves in the sea. Each generation bring new shells to the shore and crabs and snails crawl on the sand. Some fish are lucky enough to rest on our dinner plates while few swim on, across and over the horizon leading schools of fish through corals and reefs. Up here we can’t see how deep it is until we dive in.

My school is the school of hard knocks where comorbidities cause grief and pain. PTSD, flashbacks, intrusive memories and nightmares haunt us daily. Disstressive memories cause irritability, recklessness, exaggerated responses, poor concentration and sleep disturbances where comfort is found in self medication. Recovery is accomplished through harm reduction, even in the most hopeless arenas of poverty.

Co-factors that can enable health and safety seen oppressed through cross disciplinary collaborations loosening old paradigms breaking through biology, behavior and social sciences, and epidemiology. New ideas rise from strategies we create to improve realistic merging of healthcare with housing to accomplish our mission.


Burn Me

Like the red of my skin

On the end of a matchstick

The scares, scrapes, and blisters

Still can’t compare to the hurt

In my tears..


I’ve heard enough bad news

Felt uncomfortable pain

Humbled myself to nothing

Giving myself away


Now I want me back

After its said and done

A new day open new doors

Others take care of you

So I’m theirs too..



The gentrification in
NYC is not even.
Niggas is disappearing,
Going to jail and
Dressing like girls
Wake up

The sky is grey
It’s raining and
Still, it’s a beautiful
Day somewhere

Women holding it down
Men acting like clowns
Kids rule
NYC is coo

The sound of the rain
Is sweet compared
To my neighbors..


Nike’s for g’z

Jordanz for hoodratz

Foamz for hustlers

The rest for clowns


We laugh at the struggle

Like its a joke

Our minds distorted

When we segregate ourselves

With ignorance


Pay less to pay more

Go broke to be rich

Then look down at your feet

And say, DAMN what a long day





When your stuck in grief of a loved one

What respect can you give them for life

Why stay trapped in that prison of despair

Where is your faith

How can you complete your puzzle

Life is more than a simple riddle

It’s as complex as my racing thoughts

In the infancy of my recovery

It’s hard to believe all of this is real

I know we all have problems, but

I wonder how many of us can solve them