A Clause for Celebrations: The Yellow Black Book Pages

They flipped through my "Yellow Book" bookmarking a new "page" like I was public domain—knowing it was a sacred record, an ancestral roadmap, a living pulse of a legacy they were never meant to hold but wanted "inside access" to.

They didn’t walk in with courage, heart, or mind. They walked in with scripts and held spirits of jealousy, envy and greed. With stolen affirmations. With predictions they called “magic” but were really just strategy—written off of my back. Flipping pages like they owned time. They whispered affirmations over my life without asking who they were actually activating. Using leading with misleading mediations, false allegations, illegal surveillance and pandemic cleanses to access my spiritual scroll than evict—like it was an index to exploit what they wrote in a script.

They revised goals that I had and that they said I didn’t earn. That they actually deserved what I needed to sit down and humble about, because  they're "not like us", but had enough "discipline" to perform the distractions, than get rewarded for their actions based on what the extracted-hands clean. They built emotional rollercoasters of predictions based off of my patterns that they studied and than called them plans. But predictions aren’t prophecy. And mimicry isn’t magic. Because no matter how far they tried to walk in my name and walk me like a dog—I decide where the road actually leads.

They quietly laid out a "plan" that they thought i'd never be prepared for. But I know what brick really is. Concrete. Labor. Sweat. Packing it in or laying them to be pressed down into neat little lies, as theyre dipped in our own gold to be passed off as diamonds under pressure - just for claims under false clarity.

They didn’t pave the way. They tried to pave over me, and called it guidance with concrete cracks, as they gained my legs and attempted for me to get "lost" without a voice. Buried in a land that they'd wondered about, where my truth was always the wild card  as they tried to perform a royal flush.

They tried paving a road that wasn't just made for me— it was made from me. From physical work and the work of my ancestors, from the ideas siphoned in boardrooms - just to be staged performances and theatrics, from my hardwork and spiritual labor - hijacked in silence for others to indirectly learn and develop into.

But every detour eventually loops back to truth...because no matter how far they build, I am the line. I am the gate. I am the foundation. So they can let the door hit them, where the good lord split them, with their own cracks. 

So, to those who trespassed with a "passport" to education without permission: No matter how far you try to walk in my space—I decide where the road actually leads. It's my lane that you've invaded. I am the line you should’ve never crossed. I am the master of my own voice. The gate you should’ve never touched. The current you’ll never fully channel.

"Tomorrow belongs to those who prepare for the future", but even now—you still walk behind the one thing you’ll never be able to get past: confrontation. Because it’s not the magic you fear. It’s the mirror.