Mama?! I Cried!!!: Escaped, I Alone Have Escaped To Tell Thee

By Kavara Gabriel Gee

Line on line and word on word the story unfolds to the rhythm of the hip hop and poetic styles of feelings driven with passion to tell the story of the escape of a child crying somewhere in the dark from rape and defeat but the family remains unattentive. The despairing hope is no where to be found but the moments of bloodshed and self-preservat

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stratton Press
• Release date: Sep 30, 2021
• ISBN: 9781648955617

Kavara Gabriel Gee

Kavara Gabriel Gee, Sr. is a native of Timmonsville, SC and he resides now in the town of Hartsville, SC. He is the last of six sons that of the late Rev. John E. and Joan L. Gee. He is a graduate of Morris College, Bachelor of Arts in Criminal Justice and Liberty Baptist Theological Seminary where it has been conferred upon him the Master of Divinity and the Master of Religious Education. He is the father of three children: Kavara Jr., Amari, and Kimberly Gee.

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Kavara Gabriel t, Sr.

Mama?! I Cried!!!

Copyright © 2021 Kavara Gabriel t, Sr.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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ISBN (Paperback): 978-1-64895-560-0

ISBN (Ebook): 978-1-64895-561-7

Printed in the United States of America

Contents

Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Introduction

Just voidness and time with encounters spread across the bosom of the sky to bring in mind present moments, but seemingly ghosts from the past bear images of loved ones who have gone on before. From the abyss comes my thoughts and feelings to once again engage the minds of the intelligent and baffle the thoughts of the new-age hip-hop culture. No ink to pen these words to paper from the blackness of ages past as time blends itself to defeat the one or the other to find balance of seconds, minutes, hours of days and weeks to give the story that can’t be read, the song that can’t be sung, the poem that bleeds too bad to utter the words to help capture an image to describe. Floating amid the reality but stabilizing in the roots of past deception and horrors untold about the strange tree never seen by eyes of humans, I am told what strange fruit it bears. This fruit of many colors with no name and no association from which it grows is a solid mass in time of time. Like the ghost that can’t be seen built by feelings of lips to be described, it scribes to give some form of weaponized demonology of the witch’s table. Somewhere definitely not over the rainbow, but the many colors of interchanging feelings to help say, Mama! I cried!

There are many times I wish somehow there were questions and answers that would arise before events would take place in this journey of a hard-knock life. The many episodes that I discussed in my first work were not to embarrass anyone, but to reveal the truth and not my truth as I saw it, but the reality of hypocrisy within my family tree. I guess every family has their skeletons along with the good days to celebrate and to look upon for laughter and some tears of joy—the same here. However, the things that piss me off the most is when people just look for the lesser received of the family to kiss their ass and progress like nothing is wrong. I have grown to success and failures (or so I thought), and maybe I am still in the moments of success. The way people thought of me revealed that I am a diamond starting to shine, and the triumphs that I have overcome is a phenomenon of understanding and miracles to be seen. The purpose now is clear, and that is not to be a victim and neither to let the shadows of the past control the outcomes of the future.

People keep telling me all the time to get over stuff, and that is easier said than done when the moments keep repeating psychologically. The mind tends to store events and get rid of some memories, depending on the trauma that one may have experienced. In my effort this time around, things have happened yet again, but through miracles, I am still here.

The last note I ended on in my first book was as a divorced single parent and working at Lee Corrections for the State of South Carolina as a mental health technician. This was a challenge for me and my three children with my job location in a prison system. I had to learn what it means for the steps of a man to be in order because I have never had control over nothing. I thought that by planning and getting the right credentials, it would make the difference. Nothing in my life has just happened along with the good and bad; it was somehow ordered beyond my willingness to control what I felt was rightfully mine. The realization of birth survival of constant choking and strangling, through false accusations, cancer survivor, and sexual assault by family and family friends and much hardship, I am a masterpiece. The world marvels at my splendor and the reasons that make me who I am.

So this tall, brown, and robust African descent of a guy who has a little feminine quality and masculinity going on cause men to wonder and women to literally become consumed with my essence. The world looks puzzled with fatigue of comprehension and questions unanswered: