Thinkin.
No time for speakin.
Tweakin out of my mind.
Wishin I could have a piece of the good life.
A real family.
With rules and structure.
To help with my next move.
So I can get back into the groove.
I'm tired of being lost.
Dealing with life on my own.
I'm not even fully grown.
I'm a 22 year old male.
Tryna stay away from the crack sales.
A tale from any other minority.
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Author:
Hoopie (
Offline) - Published: November 15th, 2017 21:49
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 12
- Users favorite of this poem: PoeticPsycho
Offline)
Comments2
This is a good poem that you explain one of the many realities of growing up in the hood. If this is about you personally then I hope that you find your way because that's some hard shit you're dealing with. If you would like, check out the poems that I wrote and posted. Some of them are about similar issues. Peace.
Most def bro I will do that
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