Chapin City Blues

Writing is writing whether done for duty, profit, or fun.

One of my greatest sins was to discredit the works of Tupac (2Pac) Shakur growing up. Like most “disenfranchised,” lower-middle class youths, I was greatly influenced by the company I kept. And the company I kept turned their noses at the thought of listening to anything that wasn’t our style of music. And gangsta rap was not it. (Oddly enough, we listened to nu metal which carried rap undertones over loud guitars and heavy bass. We didn’t catch the irony back then.)

It was until much later – when Eminem was introduced to my playlists followed by other hip hop and rap artists long ignored – that sat down and paid attention to the words Tupac spoke. I would be in college when I picked up The Rose That Grew From Concrete and continued to pay more attention.

Looking back, I understand the importance the rap artist had on the community and music in general. I just wish my more formative years weren’t spent on rolling my eyes whenever he was brought up. So for the the sixth poem, I have chosen the haunting “In the Event of My Demise.”

More Tupac Shakur

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