Tupac was an idol of mine from a young age. I appreciated him as a poet and rapper, but I really appreciated how he personified inner turmoil. He was a sensitive poet and a self-labeled thug; a nuanced artist and a hard-edged voice for revolution; a conscious rapper and a gangster rapper. He was everything, and unabashedly so. If you knew me in high school, you always saw me with at least 1 Tupac album, a picture of his in the cover of my binder, and “RIP 2PAC” written on my backpack. It should come as no surprise that the only time I don’t have him on my phone is when I’ve messed up in syncing the music. He’s truly timeless, and he deserves so much more than this blurb.

In fact, while writing this I’m contemplating a new writing project. I’ll dedicate at least one chapter to each artist that’s influenced me in some major way, or perhaps even an album or film. It’ll be a bit of a vanity project, maybe; but like Pac, I want to shine a light on things that not everyone considers, and I want to speak my passion authentically. Tupac epitomized the idea of “authentic voice”. He lived it, breathed it, and died shouting it. A warrior poet and an undeniable icon, Tupac achieved a kind of immortality that few could. His words are just as relevant today as they ever were, if only you give them a chance.

 

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