Stuck in a whirlwind,
Gasping for air.
Worst than suffocation,
But something like deprivation.
Feeling after feeling,
Weighed upon my shoulders.
Not knowing if I want to remain,
Or move further.
These thoughts tremble through my dome,
Leaving me in the zone
And feeling alone...
No more room for mistakes,
Thus avoiding confusion.
My life is an open book,
Time to write my conclusion…
When I think back to my child hood, I can think of so many detailed memories; the good and bad. I guess you can say I’ve had one of those roller coaster rides of a life that seems as if I’d never get off. –
On June 14th, 1987 at 3:11 pm a little curly black haired boy was born to the proud parents Trecia and Walter Carlisle at Crawford Long Hospital. Soon after birth, Christopher was rushed to intensive care because of an ear infection due to amounts of fluid located deep in his ears. That little black boy was me, I was one of those fat babies that you would see and you thought they were older than what they were; only to find out their not. Growing up, I didn’t have a care in the world; I had my teenage mutant ninja turtles and batman was role model. I was a simple kid, full of imagination and a thirst to always learn something different. The earliest memory I can recall was growing up in the projects on the west side of Atlanta. Actually, it was only one memory to be exact. I remember playing outside a night, waiting on my mom and two sisters to come outside because we were going out to eat that night. Being the hyper active kid I was, I remember running around in the grass and jumped off a sewer cap that was high off the ground. As soon as my feet touched the ground I landed right on top of a shattered beer bottle; cutting my ankle. I remember screaming at the top of lungs and falling to the ground. Out came my mom running to my aid, and picking me up and bringing me into the apartment. Mind you, when I was younger my mom was very heavy set and I think that was fastest I’ve ever seen her run….actually run at all for that matter. But once we were in the house, my mom took a look at my ankle and it gushed with blood. I remember the blood distinctly because I screamed every time I looked at it. She sat me in the sink and stuck my leg under the running faucet. Standing outside the bathroom, I remember my sisters looking mad because they really wanted to go out to eat and they thought I was just being a baby.
When I was four years old, we moved to Decatur, Georgia on a little street called Brower Street. Growing up on B-Street was something like simplicity; it was my mom, dad, two sisters, my grandma, and me. My grandmother had a stroke before I was born and was paralyzed on the left side of her body so she lived with us. Grandma V was one tough cookie, she would tell it like it was but at the same time made you love her even more. She didn’t let her disability get her down and never let an argument go undone until she had something to say about it. I have so many child hood memories growing up in that house, but nothing compared to what came later……More to Come,Stay tuned...