Both Can Fall Off The Seesaw

I don’t want to be democratic.
Nor a conservative.
Rather get back at it with another rhythm while I feel murderous…You’ve heard of it!
Already.
A child from the ghetto trying to rock steady.
Break away from a neighborhood full of guns & rocks,
Setting in the outer surface of my character while I dance with the Devil…On most nights,
I wrestle with God.
Asking him whether or not,
Our cops are the problem while we’re posted on ‘the block’.
Because,
They aren’t feeding my addictions for an extra dollar added to their pots.
Where a con tacks down a drug to your soul when he sends a message of a new strain of pot.
Restraining my ability to sieve the reasons why I’m angry from my endless tears…Who should I fear?
My brothers on Broadway putting on a show when it’s time to act ‘gangsta’,
Or,
Police who peer,
From a distance with sheer,
Will until it’s time to blast matics?…Either way,
A gun is pointed,
By the voiceless,
And those anointed as protectors of a law limiting the choices.
Of Urban Youth looking for an escape from a slum so hard to avoid when,
You’re hopeless…
And broken…But,
Your neighbors add on to the pain as well.
As we’re both dipping into wishing wells.
Both addicted to a drug,
Or some pussy preventing us from wishing one another well…
Dare to shine brighter by divine powers,
And you may be devoured by their need to swell.
Pockets that have been empty for way too long…
A dark void very common to many men in the Bronx.
Coercing them to risk a meeting with 5-0 just to end up in a box…Makes no sense.
But,
Broke minds only think about dimes,
A quick check,
Some more blunts and shots!
Even if it leads to Death as their inevitable plot!
To a story written by the palms,
Of someone else who had control over them over dreams they never put to a stop…

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