I miss you Mac Miller. Even as a homeless dude I still related to your songs and your words.

Matthew McCormick, but to us its Mac Miller.

His passing was a reminder that life is hard for all of us, and we should be there for each other more than we are.
Myself included of course.

I once wanted to use my voice to create art and use my mind to makes beautiful sounds. Until the day my father showed me the door at 16 years old and handed custody to my grandmother. I dabbled in recordings when I was 17 years old, before I made the mistake of putting myself in Juvenile Hall for misdemeanor battery on a security guard in the apartments I was living in. After my release to the custody of my parents for 1 year until I turned 19, or face that year in prison.

Thankfully, my parents spared me in this instant, though not appearing at my court date, of which my meth-addict aunt Sandra grudgingly showed up to. Had it not been for her, I would of just went back in my cell, my own hell.

While at my parents, I had anger issues due to feeling abandoned and thrown away. I felt worthless and insecure about the new world I was facing as a young 'man'. Not reading the gravity of the trouble and chaos I blindly contributed to, I had placed the straw on my fathers' back for the last time. While online chatting with friends about making some music, feeling I had something worth saying at the time, I disrespected the man of the house and therefore was no longer welcomed in said house.

While screaming at the top of his 35 year old lungs, about how I will never make music worth hearing and that me and my friend "will never be shit!", I tearfully gathered my clothes as I felt that was most vital to my day to day existence, and walked out my childhood home for the last time. I went next door to my classmates' house, asked him to take care of my possessions while I took off to figure out where I was going to sleep that night.

Music has been a blessing and a curse to me. Maybe that goes for Mac Miller, too.