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FREE VERSE: /frē ˈvərs/Noun

the lack of a consistent rhyme scheme, metrical pattern, or musical form.


If he says it, he means it. If he did it, he doesn’t regret it. Because whether we like it or not, he controls what happens in his universe. He doesn’t believe in mistakes, only lessons. These lessons often find their way freely into his verses. His name is often recited, but folks have no idea of the man behind it.


She is searching for the reset button. You know, rewind back to the time when things were so simple. Where no heartbreak existed. When all she had to worry about was doing homework and being the center of attention for all the right reasons and not because of a scandal. 


Immerse yourself in Shooter and Lexiana’s Free Verse as they use their talents, bodies, and life lessons to create a rhythm that at first appears to have no rhyme or reason. By the end, they will make patterns and music that not only speak to the soul but speaks to the hearts they are both looking to mend.


Glass shattered piece by piece into the SUV as shots rang out. There wasn’t any way to tell where they were coming from since the front and back windows were now caved in. I pushed the button to recline my seat and take cover at the same time. A swish sound, along with a powerful breeze came my way with a bullet flying past my nose, barely missing me, “SHIT!” I whispered.

My shirt suddenly became drenched with sweat, heart thumping, and singing along with the tunes playing from the firing guns. I fumbled looking for my pistol. It was too dark to see anything; the only visible lights were coming from the street post. “Rock get the fuck down!” I shouted while the bullets continued pouring in. His voice was to no avail. I glanced up, tilting my head to the side to look over at the passenger seat. There he laid slouched over in all black, mouth ajar, blood dripping down the sides of his cheeks. I shifted my gaze to the dime-size hole on the side of his head and lost it.

Everything became a blur. I grabbed both sides of his face, pulling him closer, shouting, “Fuck! Come on Rock. Not today, I can’t do this…” I wailed with pain. I touched along his neck feeling for a pulse but it wasn’t there. I checked his wrist but couldn’t tell because my own heartbeat from within myself overshadowed everything. I shook him uncontrollably until his body slumped over on top of me. I pushed him back into the seat. He was gone and his tongue dangling from his mouth was a clear indicator.

When I finally located my pistol, I hopped out of the truck. I shut the door and instantly the streets felt empty and the only sounds were from mother nature herself. The ground was wet from the non-stop rain Atlanta experienced. We were on a side street with no houses, no stores, no anything. I searched around looking for a clue as to where my target went. I didn’t know how many people were behind this so I went to the trunk. Since I was in Rock’s car, I knew he never stayed without several straps so the options were endless. I decided a simple handgun would do better than running around with a rifle, so I pulled out the Glock and slid it behind my waist. Faint footsteps staggered to my left and I took off in that direction landing into an alleyway.

Rock asked me to roll with him to Crimbleton, an area in Atlanta that people stayed clear from. He wanted to meet his homeboy Boone but tonight I expressed how uneasy I felt. Now here I was stuck in a situation I wasn’t prepared for.
I crept slowly waiting to hear whoever make a mistake. It was practically pitch black, the only thing visual was the reflective checkmark on the side of my all-black 93 Air Max.

“Aye pussy nigga?” My voice echoed, bouncing off what I assumed to be a big metal trash bin in front of me. “You better kill me because if I live to make it to you, I’m spilling your fucking brains out motherfucka!”

The sound of a gun cocking back clicked behind me, “What you say? Repeat yourself with this gun pointed to your head,” a deep raspy voice growled.

“Nigga I ain't changing what I said, you heard me the first time.” I fussed, making a bold decision to spin around in his direction now facing him directly head-on. Sure, enough it was Boone. He was a giant, at least 6’4 and easily weighing over three-hundred pounds. It looked like he’d put on more weight since I’d first seen him. His shoulders were broad as hell, stomach showing, hanging over his jeans and he was black as hell. “Lil nigga I hear they call you Shooter, right?”
I looked up, squinting my eyes while creasing my brows. “What? You know what they call me. And if you’re smart enough you would take your shot because if I bust at you, I won’t miss.”

He laughed which made me more furious. I barely lifted my shirt and quickly pulled the chrome beretta out the front of my pants. Gripping the handle with one hand over the other, I pointed it towards his face. This time we both had guns aiming at our domes. “Chill I was aiming for Rock. I have nothing against you. Rock owed me and he knew how this would go down if he came up short. And as far as his sister is concerned, Nando assaulted her not me. In this game, it’s all about getting even and if I was you, I’d stay out of it. This is a grown man’s game.”

Within seconds, I aimed quickly at his hand firing one shot, causing his gun to fall to the ground. “Oh, my fucking God,” he screamed, kneeling down to recover his gun, but I kicked it the moment he got halfway. I saw the blood oozing from his hands and that was the first time I felt relieved. I was glad to cause him pain but what he felt wasn’t nearly half of the throbbing sensation he left me with from losing my friend to some stupid shit.

“You know the streets call me Shooter for a reason, right? I shoot with precision and every aim to target results in devastation. You shoulda killed me,” I snickered. “But you didn’t.”

“Wait, you gon kill me over that Hispanic-looking dude?” He guffawed, “You’re bout to murder me over a white motherfucker that gives no shit about you? Man, you trippin,” he mumbled.

“Naw nigga, Rock and I go way back and that same light-skinned dude you’re referring to is as black as they come. Loyal as fuck too. Your snitching ass cut from a different cloth. You a rattin ass nigga. You two aren’t the same. Remember that!”
“You know if you live by the bullet then you—,” he tried to finish but I swiped the gun down, parting his lips and shoved it into his mouth.

“Shut-the-fuck-up! You shoulda thought about that when you killed Nate, Roscoe, or all the rest of the niggas on the street. Rock was my brother and when it comes to him, hell yeah I’ll smoke you til you turn into dust motherfucka.” I noticed daylight creeping in as the back of his head leaned further against the brick wall.

As I got ready to squeeze the trigger, Boone’s hands swaddle my wrist but my grip was too firm. If one thing I learned from seeing shit hit the fan was anyone would do their best to stay alive but Boone underestimated me. He didn’t think I had it in me. Hell, I didn’t either since I’d never kill anyone before. In the streets I was well respected, people knew I wasn’t no snitch and I was no drug dealer either. I knew the game but I was the man people came to if they needed me to knock someone off. I’d do the dirty work and get them down but never taking God’s place to end their life. I taught people lessons but no one could ever prove that, it was just a tale in the streets, but it was all true.

Without saying another word, I squeezed the trigger causing his blood to splatter in all types of directions. What should have been a big-sounding blow was minimal since the shot fired was inside his mouth. His lifeless body fell to the ground and I repositioned again making sure I finished him. I refocused the pistol to his chest, cocking it back, and squeezed the trigger slowly. On release, the fire and light illuminated the tip of the muzzle causing smoke. I felt the immediate pressure jolting my arms from the recoil of the gun. The shells flew back against me, and the sounds of them dropping on the ground echoed through the alleyway. “No matter the pigmentation of your skin, we all bleed red motherfucka.”

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