Inside Kanye’s Head

This isn’t going as planned.

This doesn’t feel how it’s supposed to feel.

I got everything I thought I’d want.

Everything I was supposed to want.

I was in the argument for the best rapper, I was definitely the best producer, I got the pretty girl right from off the TV, I got married, I got kids, the President knows my name and phone number, hell, I’m gonna be running for President, and yet… and yet…

What do you call a Black man with 21 Grammys?

I’ll give you one guess.

But it’s more than that.

More than thinking my success and my riches would get me the respect only a fool would deny I deserve.

More than putting my heart and soul into my music and having people judge it based on it’s “hotness”.

More than riding for my sister Beyonce to the point where I interrupt America’s sweetheart at the VMAs and then have her sit out my wedding.

More than Jay not coming by.

More than people that never met me pointing cameras in my face and calling me by my first name instead of “Sir” like you’d imagine an unknown gentleman just a year away from 40 should be addressed.

More than losing my mother.

More than still not seeing my dad as much as I want.

More than nobody seeming to realize that this is my lane; that before me, you had to be an ex drug dealer to get a record deal and that I opened the door for the Drakes, and the Kendricks, and the Futures of the future.

More than how it’s necessary that I demand that people recognize my genius, as opposed to suggesting that it’s something slight like a “knack” or dismissing it as a “talent” or worse yet, calling it a “gift” as if it were given to me by God God’s self and I didn’t hafta work on it when working on it was all I ever did.

But here’s what it probably is:


Music heals, and I’ve made lots of music.

And if you’re old enough to read this and you know my name, there’s a chance that I’ve made a song you know.

There’s even a chance I’ve made a song that you like.

There’s also a chance that at some point, the only thing between you and the darkest moment of your life was a Kanye song.

There’s a chance that my music brought you home.

Still, when you meet me or when you respond to a Tweet I sent out, this isn’t what you bring up first.

No, you bring up my wife, or you bring up my kids or you bring up my clothing line or my relationship with Jay or Dame or whoever.

You bring up my rants or my “meltdowns” and Lord knows I almost don’t wanna get outta the hospital if only for the fact that I know that I’m never gonna hear the end of this particular episode.

You talk to me and Tweet me, like I said before, not only like you know me, but like you don’t even respect me, then you’re gone.

And you never even think to thank me for my part in sheltering you from the storm.


About the Author


Dickie Bhee is a self-styled lunatic, a Renaissance showman, a Class A, Grade A buffoon, a nigga that believes in the greatness of Niggerhood a social gadfly and a genuine Man About Town.

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