The Miseducation of a Dream


February 13th, 2015 was the day I met my lyrical inspiration for the third time. They say Friday the 13th is bad luck and they say the third time is the charm; I did not know which superstition would overcome that night as I prepared for it. Every time I met Ms. Hill, she kicked a massive amount of knowledge to me in a short period of time. My soul is always fed in abundance. Her wisdom, sprouting from her experiences and knowledge, just pours into you like water. For that specific night, my thirst for knowledge and assurance was served.

Before walking in that room, I heard two poets go in and perform their hearts out before I had my chance. A small voice in my head said, "there goes your opportunity" but I did not let it over power me. I immidiately zoned out and focused on the poem I would perform; I looped 3 poems in my head as I waited. I prayed as I do before every performance. I prayed for peace of mind, I prayed they were receptive to the message God wanted them to hear and I prayed for open doors and endless opportunities. As soon as I walked through the doors and gave her a hug, I asked to perform something for her. When she accepted and said she only has a short amount of time, time stopped. I slowly took off my coat to use the time to gather my peace. When I took my coat off and put my things down I heard my friend, Denija, say, " Vita, you better go in." I took a DEEP breath in and I exhaled the most powerful performance of "I AM NOT A POET" I've ever performed in my life. The poem is three years old. I performed it for Spike Lee literally three years before around the same date. Three. It was destiny. I released that poem into the atmosphere with every struggle and every late night I stayed up crying over my sleeping son praying I would be able to give him more than I have in the past. I pushed out that poem with the pain of missed opportunities and closed doors, the hurt of betrayal, the feeling of discontentment, the bliss of love and the uncertainty of tomorrow. I poured that poem out of the depths of my soul as a libation to my cousin, Devonte, who was killed a few weeks before and my great-grandmother, Della Mae Rudolph, who lost her battle to cancer. I delivered that poem as if it were the Ether of Doubt; I would have made Nas proud. I felt the the buzz of release as poetry vibrated my voice box and fell from my mouth in the form of spoken word. I did it PERFECTLY and she felt it.

Ms. Hill looked me in my eyes, no she looked into my soul and said, "Wow, powerful." She repeated this line over and over again while still staring in my eyes. I was starting to feel uncomfortable because I was afraid of how grandiose God could be when it comes to answering my prayers. I kept telling her how I just need the opportunity and I'm willing to write anything because I have the ability to. She told me how she had to create her own platform and I might have to do the same (I have with Speak to my Soul but I surely didn't speak of it as so). I could see it in her eyes, again, she could see something in me. Revolutionary to match the Tupac shirt I chose to wear that night. She thought my spoken word was revoluntionary enough to compare to The Last Poets. At that moment, I knew I hit my breakthrough.

There is much more to this story but I will save that for another post.

I never could imagine even meeting Ms. Hill. She was always on my list of people to meet but I wrote that list never believing it would come to fruition. We are taught too often to chase what makes us the most money without considering our own happiness. We are miseducated on the subject of dreams. My mom chased every dream I had in support of me but society told me dreams weren't tangible. Once I realized poetry would release me, I chased that dream with no breaks. There were no limits. I thought, "If I can meet Lauryn once, I can surely do it twice." Once I met her for the second time, by happenstance, I knew I could do it a third time and make a lasting impact. I believe I did. See for yourself...

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