I was raised in chaos.
By nine, I was already introduced to drugs. My father jumped me into a gang, teaching me violence before I even knew what love was. His sister molested me, stealing what innocence I had left. Fighting became my only shield, because no one was protecting me. Not the adults. Not the world.
I watched the women I loved get hurt, and I made it my mission to shield them. I thought if I carried enough pain, if I gave enough of myself, maybe I’d finally be loved. But love was always conditional. I wasn’t allowed to be a child. I had to grow up fast, raise my brothers, and carry weight that was never mine to hold. There was no room for mistakes. No space for softness.
I got comfortable being unseen, unheard, and never valued.
Even writing this brings me pain, because I realize how trapped I was for most of my life. I wore many faces. I housed different shells of myself. I performed versions of Cam, never knowing who I truly was. All I knew was how to please. How to perform. I lived a lie, afraid of the abuse I might receive if I ever let my true self slip through.
But then there was rhythm.
Drumming became my escape. When I played, I wasn’t invisible anymore. For once, I was at the center of attention. My pain poured through me like an instrument, birthing sounds that felt freeing, even holy. But drumming was also an imprisonment. Because what would I be if I couldn’t prove I was great? How could I call myself strong when I didn’t truly love myself?
What triggered my journey in writing music was language arts in middle school. I fell in love with poetry as an escape, weaving cadences into my spoken thoughts. My poems were simple, but they came from the rage I carried and didn’t know how to release.
Beneath the anger was sadness. The kind of sadness that asks, Why was this done to me?
I remember writing my first sad poem, only to have classmates mock me for it. That judgment cut deep. I abandoned sadness and went straight into rap — because anger was safer than vulnerability. If I was loud, hard, and unshaken, nobody could laugh at me.
It took years of learning to feel safe within myself before I returned to the page with honesty. My first song about my life was called Family First. It scratched the surface of my story, but I knew there was more waiting to come out.
Now I write a blend of rap, R&B, and alternative. I write for the boy crying who just wanted to be heard. I write for the boy enraged at the world who wanted to be seen. And I write for the man who grew strong enough to protect and guide them both.
My goal is simple: to heal through music, and to help others do the same.
Music carried me from survival to opportunity. Street performing in Piedmont Park, and throughout the city wasn’t for fun. It was survival. I was homeless and hungry, and rhythm was my only income.
One day, I was seen. That moment opened a door I never expected.
I went from the pavement to the stage, performing in commercials, music videos, and traveling across the country. I shared stages with Ciara, Anderson Paak, Jacquees, and more. I became a professional drummer for the Atlanta Hawks, Braves Drumline, and Atlanta United soccer team.
My pain-turned-passion carried me into places I’d never dreamed of. But even then, I was still hiding.
What I once called strength was pure delusion. I thought survival made me unbreakable, but the truth was, I was breaking inside. Drumming saved me, but it also gave me another mask. A performance. A facade.
Learning to love myself has been the most transformational part of my journey. It meant stripping away the armor, dropping the faces, and allowing myself to be more than what I could produce.
I don’t just perform anymore. I live. I let passion move me, not fear.
Now, I walk in greatness, but I don’t parade it like a mask. I embody it. I live it.
I am CAMO: Creative And Musical One.
A lover. A fighter. An artist. A god.
My pain brought me purpose, and my music carries that purpose everywhere I go. Through rhythm, I heal. Through words, I connect. Through love, I lead.
People wonder why I haven’t been crushed under the weight of my past, but the truth is this: God gave me vision, and I refuse to give up on myself.
Mark my words: I will be on every screen, and your favorite artist’s favorite artist. Not just for fame, but to remind the world that healing is possible. That survival can become sound. That rhythm and words together can carry us home.
My journey doesn’t end with me. It continues through The Shedding, the space Asia and I built together. She brings words that cut to the soul. I bring rhythms that move the body. Together, we’ve created a mirror for people to face their truth, shed their armor, and walk lighter. This is my offering. This is our mission.
“Every sound carries healing. Every beat carries truth. And every one of us has a rhythm that can lead us back to ourselves.”