Dear Kobe


I know I’m talking to myself when writing this and many of my readers won’t understand why I’m even writing this, but when inspiration and gut feeling tell me to write, I do it. I went to sleep thinking about Kobe, and woke up thinking about him, his family, his daughter that passed. I feel like there’s something there… some kind of inspiration or message that needs to be told. I honestly don’t know what it is; my thoughts are truly jumbled up right now. I read about Kobe Bryant’s passing yesterday while I was shopping with my sister and my niece, and I stopped where I was and my jaw actually dropped. I was truly shocked and I still am. Recently, I’ve seen Kobe on talk shows and in interviews and for some reason, I had been paying more attention to them than I ever have.

Dear Kobe,

We don’t know each other on a personal level, and if I’m being honest, I didn’t watch you play basketball a lot. My dad grew up right outside of Los Angeles, so once every blue moon, he would turn on a Lakers game on tv. I remember this because that’s when I heard your name for the first time. I was probably about 10 years old when I first heard of you, so it was about 2000. Yes, I know now I was behind on the times. My family was always a football and softball family.

As I got older, I appreciated sports more. I heard your name in just about every conversation about basketball. I respected you and your game. I definitely respected the fact that you were a family man.

Because I have never been a huge basketball fan, I didn’t feel right mourning your death. I didn’t feel like I deserved being shocked or any other feeling I was feeling. I rarely watched you, didn’t pay much attention… I just really knew of you. I knew you were basically the face of basketball for a long time and I definitely respected you when you were able to retire with 20 years of NBA experience under your belt. I still didn’t feel right mourning you, but I broke down for a few minutes yesterday when you passed away. I’m an empath, so I know that had to do with it too. But you deserve to be mourned. You were human. You made mistakes just like all of us. You weren’t immortal like so many of your fans and even I believed. And that’s okay. Resting easy is your only job now. Your legacy, your name, your game will live on, sir.

So many NBA players grew up watching you and learning from you. You play through them now. They will play in your honor and memory now.

If you’re reading this, I respect you and I want you to know that you have posthumously inspired me to live and work with that “Mamba Mentality” you talked about. I should have paid more attention to you and your work ethic, but as I work toward my dream, it will be through that Mamba mentality.


“Enjoy the Ride”

“Enjoy the Ride” (June 9, 2009)

It doesn’t matter what we say,

it doesn’t matter what we do,

it only matters what you dream and only being you.

Write down your thoughts and close the book,

Keep your anger inside.

Get in, strap in, lift your hands, and

enjoy the ride.

“Cursing Is Too Much With Us”

*I had to write this for English IV class my senior year of high school. This is my own version of “The World Is Too Much With Us” by William Wordsworth.

“Cursing Is Too Much With Us” (February 18, 2009)

Cursing is too much with us,

day and night.

People use it to make them feel alright.

Saying and shouting, we waste our words.

We scream it from the mountaintop, yet we’ve heard

of what we’re missing, the gentle, the sweet, the thoughtful words.

The heart is cold of the gentleness of our voices, we are vicious,

our voices, our hearts, so malicious.

Our future is ruined of the beautiful rain, it is only dark,

not good at all, we do it anyway, and we knew it from the start.

The dark abyss of the shouting, no more of the beautiful sun,

or we could beat down the voices and easily say we won.

“Jack and Jill”

“Jack and Jill” (January 20, 2009)

As she walks out of the room, she walks back in to look at herself.

It’s all coming down to that very moment, that very moment.

She wants so bad to tell someone, but who will she tell?

She’d go down in flames for this, but peace will come before it.

I love you, he says, but his fists always get the best.

This very moment will forever, for the rest of his life, only give him hell.

Die, she said, Don’t ever touch me, she said.

He falls as a deafening sound echoes through the room, as he falls dead.

Ha, she said. I told you I’d make it. 

He bleeds as he lies on the floor.

She swipes her shoulder, she said, See you in hell, as she makes her way to the door.