Who Is My Enemy

Where do pain and trauma originate, and how does life seem to take from us so effortlessly? Can any point be drawn to existence? To truly know is to experience. Take on the life of a light-skinned Puerto Rican in the streets of the Bronx, the system against him from birth, and evading death since childhood. He didn't want the fight; his choice was made for him. A fist is obvious and can be redirected; it's the sneaking invisible hand that strikes the deepest, tearing hearts in twain and the conscience from conscious thought. Pain repeats itself through itself. How do we see the pain coming, or know how to redirect, or when to brace for impact? To know is to experience, this is a story that has never been told before. Somethings down the line are hard to comprehend, but please don't go on without hearing another man's truth. This battle that wages seem to not always be of flesh and bone. We must find the origin of pain. Come and know.