Moses Moody performs a spoken-word poem about his uncle's 18-year incarceration and the systemic forces that push impoverished Black men toward violence and crime. He reflects on success through sacrifice and tenacity, opening with a story about learning public speaking from his father.
Chapters
My dad, he does a lot of public speaking and he has my whole life. So when I was a kid, maybe second, third grade, he would have me go introduce him in front of all the people he was about to go present in front of. He would have me go introduce him, say his name, say what he was about to talk about and everything. And that was just a very smart move by him. And it just made me comfortable speaking around, speaking in front of various amounts of people. My name is Moses Moody. I'm going to be performing an original poem called he beat the streets, you struggle to reach a destination. When my uncle found himself in max incarceration, all because he had this undone infatuation with pride, though he had to put that pride to the side because he was headed to spend cold nights with straight killers. I'm talking caged up gorillas all fighting for one spot at the top. I got a lot of positive reactions because, you know, initially it was my senior speech, so it wasn't as big of a deal. It was me talking to my classmates. So that was. I got a lot of applause and a lot of praise from school, but it was just that. But when I finally reached a certain age, I started seeing the rage. A grown man spent 18 years locked up in a cage. They treated him like an animal. Only time he got respect is when he roared. When my uncle had the heart of a soldier, the aggression of a prize fighter. Just no one taught him what to fight for. See, the system creates this illusion with lies in confusion. And my uncle fell victim to the trial. Well, I'm sorry to say I'm starting to believe the only way to make it out of struggle is to put a ball in that hoop. A wrap. It's so hard to make it out. There's just so many obstacles. And then later on, I decided to post it on social media. I was really impressed by the fact that so many people saw it for what it was and was able to break down. I've. I've heard different breakdowns on what I was saying that I didn't even think about. It was really beautiful. But I can't change the station. When I see my youth dying on tv, I got this deeper connection since they all look like me. But let me ask y' all a question. When you see me, what's your first impression? Are you willing to learn this lesson or are you distracted by my complexion? An impoverished black male making his way out the streets is the equivalent to a flower blooming through the concrete. You know, a lot of people say, you know what? Nobody cares about your story unless you win. I know I have a lot of stuff to say. I know I have a lot to. I want to help people. I want to do this and I want to do that. But in this stage of my life, I have to get to the point to where people will listen. And that success is a product of sacrifice, tenacity, and just straight up luck. That sacrifice comes in when you pushing a broke down hoopie and your homeboy got a Bentley truck, all because he's selling that stuff. I have to build my accomplishments up to the point to where I have people that listen to me at this point. But I feel like the higher I get, the more people I can impact. Just like that single flower that busted through that concrete. He had to stand there, eye to eye, toe to toe, staring at defeat. But he built different, so his mind is not even wired to consider retreat. And after all that, that young man left standing on his own two feet had done the impossible. He beat the streets. Thank you.
