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C.R.E.A.M

March 23, 2016

 

I was in a different mental space when I wrote this. Hope you can feel it. As always on Tuesdays, I give you a sneak peek into my mind through my poems.

 

Enjoy:

 

Life as a shorty shouldn't be so tough, and as the world turn, I learned life is hell, living in a world no different from a cell . . . words that echo loud and clear.

 

Wu Tang never said anything so trill.

 

Young, Black, and disadvantaged, statistics stacked against me hauntin'. Friends one day foes the next, ready to blast me in the concrete nest, jungle, this experiment went wrong where's the overseer, to press pause.

 

Shootin', robbin', schemin', plottin' dead bodies on the side street, ain't nobody (scene) nothing.

 

It's that life, gritty no bling, no MTV, no Hollywood screen. Rappin' 'bout kilos and slangin' dope, hopin' that today I don't face the ratio.

 

Momma workin', daddy ain't supportin', we all family, only half siblings. Turn 15 cents to a dollar, with inflation we'll be lucky to be survivin'.

 

Hope lives outside of these walls, it only comes here to die. But we coolin' in all gold everything, jays to my feet, bitches on my ring, yet depression on my chest. Frontin' like err-thing will be okay. Working overtime just to see the sunrise, just to stay alive, for another day, stay out of dodge.

 

Bullets passin' no name on it, hopin' no blood of a baby stains it, but you know how it goes. It lays heavy, only stressin', paranoid trippin', psychotic visions, so I ask myself is life worth living or should I blast myself? 

 

Pains of a misunderstood youth, the world wasn't made for truth. Tears run down and burnin' holes in my innocence, grown by the age of seven, no discipline.

 

Dopeman, dopeman can I get another hit, dopeman dopeman runs this shit. Rock stars we look up to, we wanna be OGs too. It's all cool, until blood and gusts from enemies of turfs and undercovers with a badge and a grudge.

 

Try to maintain wits, charm, and lack of empathy helps you move mane. But the thoughts never seize to stop. The heart never seize to walk not run. And the sirens never seem to halt no vacation.

 

Hood, Ghetto, Projects, rotten space, the smell of under-achievements mixed with no chances, with a dash of broken dreams is painted all over the streets. White supremacy at it's finest. No outlet for this injustice, so I build up this aggression, I take out my hatred on something that looks familiar, a face similar to my own, a person who has nothing, to lose, simply future goals. So I pull the trigger blaat blaat blaat, 'cause only the strong survive in this concrete nest, jungle, experiment mess. GOD hold my soul, 'cause it's slippin' to the devil.

 

VIE

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