By 
Before they gave me a title…
Before they handed me a flag…
Before they tried to split me into categories—
I knew who I was.
And if you don’t know where to start…
Start here.
I am a man first.
Before the world taught me my name…
Before my passport, my paycheck, or the skin I walk in—
I stood. On principle.
On presence.
On the sacred contract between breath and responsibility.
I don’t need hashtags to validate my humanity.
I don’t need movements to tell me what matters.
I am a man.
And that means something.
I am an American second.
Not because flags define me—
but because freedom allows me to define myself.
I honor the soil that gave me voice.
The Constitution that lets me speak this truth.
But I know:
A country is only as strong as the character of its men.
So I build.
I defend.
I question.
I contribute.
Because real patriotism doesn’t wave—it works.
All other identities?
Distractions.
“Race”?
That’s a label made to box in brilliance.
It ain’t real—it’s a costume sewn by power,
stitched together to distract you from the nation,
the lineage,
the truth of who you are.
I don’t claim categories created to divide.
I walk in clarity—not confusion.
Political parties?
That’s theater.
Two sides of the same coin flipped by people you’ll never meet.
I don’t play mascot in their arena.
I ask my own questions.
Read my own books.
Stand on my own values.
Class?
That’s a mirror made to shame your reflection.
Make you feel less than. Or more than.
I break mirrors.
I live in truth.
Status?
Fleeting.
Trends fade.
Titles die.
But character?
Character stays.
See, they want you tangled in subgroups,
locked in debate,
fighting shadows
while the core of you—your soul’s compass—
sits untouched in the corner.
But not me.
I refuse to be fragmented.
I walk whole.
Head high.
Feet grounded.
I am a man first.
An American second.
And everything else…?
Just a test.
[…pause…]
And I don’t fold under pressure.