PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Born in a world of madness

Broken glass from beer bottles

Clogged up brains claiming they can't explain

The inner hollars...

From their aching souls

And when it's cold

They sacrifice for heat

Putting prices on their bodies just to eat

Sleep walking like zombies

High off of pestilence

Beaming up like Scottie

Just got to have more pestilence

Wrestling with their lives

Selling their souls to demons

For another hit of the crack pipe

Scheming just to get high

Raised off of

Jim Beam

Paul Mason

And Hennessy

Philli Blunts were her best friends it seemed

To me, I'm living in hell

Unable to understand

The corruption

Drug use

Abuse

And the destruction of the brother man

And other than

Youth violent persistence,

Black on Black criminal consistency

They say,

"Well, what's the problem?"

Breaking their damn necks to solve a math equation

When the getto is still fucked up,

And corrupt

Filled with dope slaves,

But they...

Only speak on solutions

See...

I'm used to seeing crack babies

And Black babies,

Given disease before their eyes are open

Born with a plague that kills them before they live

Teenagers coping with cigarettes,

I mean, cancer sticks

A fiend for anything that destroys them

Often, I've sought to be their savior

Dreaming of black picket fences

Fuck the White House

I'm negro built

And uhm...

I was once that nigga they portrayed on TV

Living to get high

Smoking weed & drinking Hennessy

A forty ounce bottle was my father figure

Cause niggas were all I knew

Pimps, pushers, and thugs

Cause not one man stood where I grew

Am I living in hard times?

Or are times hard because of the way I live?

I'm sick of seeing Black kids going to school

Just to become professional thieves;

Educated prostitutes,

And drive-by shooters

Dope slangers,

Gang bangers,

Experts on war bullets

Little Black girls learning to turn tricks

At the tender age of 12

Doing whatever to make that cheese

While their souls are burning in the pits of hell

I dwell in the past

Because our future is cloudy

Little Tiffany is pregnant with no financial plans

No real man,

But her so called "friends" speaks proudly of her

Her father was a blur,

In the wind gone

Her mother is a junkie

Selling her last food stamp for that sweet heroin

I was sworn into the ghetto

From my first witness of a drive-by

And the Pigs denied their lack of interest

To the slums of the ghetto where I reside

I no longer dwell in the past

So everybody get off your ass

And ask yourselves,

"Is it time to give back?"

Yes, it's time to give back

My brothers...

My sisters...

My people...

It is time we start thinking BLACK



Tha Prodigal One...