……Called him young buck, so he could have an angle, most of the time he was someone you wanted to strangle, some good would come his way and he’d just let it dangle, he has no car, and received five thousand dollars, but brought an expensive cat called a bengal, ran out into the street to catch a rolling penny, and almost got mangled. Sales drugs all week with nothing to show for it, advances is sleek, less than meek, as a man he’s got to be feeling weak, there’s a strength he doesn’t know to seek; humility can be so sweet, as sure as big girls wish they were petite. Life is one big school and you walked into the closet, don’t have a clue, can’t find your home room so you disguised it; comprised it, with fake lessons and unreal grades you’d never obtain, your life remains the same, now you in a cage, got your ancestors turning in their graves.
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Author:
EvenwheniLie (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: May 14th, 2023 23:41
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 4
- Users favorite of this poem: L. B. Mek
Offline)
Comments2
(such an important write
thank you! dear Poet)
I hate the term
'black on black crime'
it's such bul'sht
call it what it is
'criminal on criminals, crime'
with an obstinate support system
determined
to watch the demise of their youth
than admit defeat, ask for help
and save
their youth from their inherited, causality
of cyclic, ill--fate...!
All of America’s past is slowly coming home to the present.
And my wife thinks I can't prioritise.
LOL
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