As told to Alphonso “A’Qen-Aten” Jackson
P . . .
I . . .
M . . .
P . . .
Profitability . . .
In . . .
Marketing . . .
People . . .
Yeah, that’s me . . .
Or, maybe . . . I should say was, ’cause . . . that type of P-I-M-P, is who I used to be . . .
Now, you’ll probably judge me and say that’s ugly without knowin’ my story,
and, honestly, I rebuke your opinions, cause they can’t do nothin’ for me
But, God’s glory . . . is the reason I share this . . .
Before I became a representative for strippers, prostitutes, and whores
I was a teenage heroin addict, addicted to what I couldn’t afford.
Bein’ a fiend at 15 means, that my only means to score more diamorphine
was to routinely practice and participate in the illegal activities that I’ve seen.
See, my blood stream wasn’t just hi-jacked and filled with that smack,
Yeah . . . pops was a pimp killed by cops and moms . . . probably woulda killed for that crack . . .
and every time I think back . . . I remember seein’ the reflection of hell on her face
when I saw her overdosed corpse on a stretcher, as paramedics escorted her away with disgrace.
So instead of turning to my savior, I turned to chasing the pattern of my parents’ behavior . . .
evolving from the victim, to a ward of the system who grew into a perpetrator . . .
I ignored the grace of my creator . . . ’cause although he did let me live,
I often wondered why . . . would God . . . give these types of burdens . . . to a kid?
Instead of tryin’ suicide I decided to live a lie, provided by the high through the eye of a needle and I relied on supplyin’ these desires, by conspiring to the desires of other people.
So I acquired me a bottom chick . . . she started out as someone I just used to shoot up with
till I convinced her, that we’d get high all we want if she’d be willin’ to flaunt her God-given gift.
She agreed and we took a trip to the strip . . . she turned tricks while I watched . . . numb and unremorseful.
$287 dollars richer later that night, in-between wrist hits, I remember thinkin’ how resourceful sex could actually be . . . and ladies and gentlemen . . . that’s the moment when everything changed.
I started makin’ a name for myself on the streets and my relationship with reality became estranged.
But, somehow, I still remained in God’s mercy, because after chainin’ myself to the game for 21 years a disciple of a rival peer walked up behind me on the block and cocked his gun behind my left ear . . . and without warning—POP—my ears rang from a shot as I dropped, followed by non-stop pain.
I laid huddled in a growing puddle of my own blood, leakin’ from my posterior auricular vein.
Instantly, my ears stopped ringin’ and a voice that I hadn’t heard since I was a child, started speakin’.
It was my mother . . . and as I started losing consciousness, she constantly kept repeating . . .
I woke up four days later in a hospital bed . . . I was by myself and thinkin’ “I should be dead.”
After two hours of straight silence, I turned on the TV, saw a minister giving a sermon and he said:
“Turn your bibles to Romans 12 and heed as I read Passage 2 . . .
and if you’re somewhere alone, let it be known, that God is tryin’ to talk to you.
Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is—his good, pleasing and perfect will.”
Even though I could only hear him through my right ear, I immediately felt this chill . . .
Suddenly, emerging in the peripheral of my right eye was a Bible sitting on the table,
and, since I was unable to reach it, I hit the lil red button with the nurse call label.
Once the nurse was able to respond, I turned off the TV, then I asked her to please pick up the Bible and read Romans 12, Passage 2 to me. She picked up the Bible, but didn’t open it; she just placed it in my hand and said, “If you’re ready to offer your body as a living sacrifice, then let the Lord and Christ take command.”
She promptly exited the room before I could thank her or ask any questions,
I mean, I heard momma singin’ the exact same thing after I was shot, so I was shocked beyond impression.
Then a nurse walked in the room and said, “Hey, look who’s finally awake, sorry I took so long, but I’m the only nurse on duty on this floor tonight, so I’ve been busy, but what’s wrong?”
I didn’t give her an explanation, but now I’m sharing that situation with ya’ll . . . and for those of you who still view me as worthless, that was MY journey . . . from damnation into my Lord’s salvation, and now I’m a reformed . . .
P . . .
I . . .
M . . .
P . . .
Praising . . .
In . . .
My . . .
Purpose . . .
This story originally appeared in Facing Sex Trafficking: Atlanta’s Dirty Little Secret, a publication of The Facing Project that was organized by AIB TV in Atlanta, Georgia.