My words are those spray-painted across train tunnels and brick walls.
Carried by informal kinship to hieroglyphics written in caves hidden from plain sight,
Brought to eyes just trying to find answers to simple questions in life.
Why am I here?
Everyday you wake up,
From a world of dreams shaping our realities,
Day by day.
So much time passes right underneath our noses,
While we often look down at a screen screening and capturing our moments,
I sit back and wonder,
Did you really enjoy the moment while filming your documentary of memories,
For the world to see?
Or did it pass by,
Forgetting what happened in seconds after putting your hand down,
As if it were all a dream?
Looking around me,
We don’t really think big in a sense,
Spending time in the club,
Pummeled by 5-0 in the rough,
And wake up just to detest,
How we decided to live our lives…
You hate your job,
But won’t leave,
Coming from a family tree cursed with mediocrity along the lines.
You sing lullaby after lullaby about how your parents made you cry.
Your father wasn’t there,
Your mother wasn’t there during hard times.
Sounds more like life sentences written on a chalkboard,
As if you were in detention,
Like the bad student you were sought out for…
You grew up poor and abhorred respect for authority,
Feeling left out by majorities,
Can’t see you’re alive with a chance to snap chains,
That smother our necks over some shine that lights up our darkest days…
I get it.
Bumps on the road,
Your ride hanging on the edges.
Let me ask you this…
What have you been doing to overcome?
Many have much to complain about,
Where’s the job?
Where’s the business?
Where’s the dream?
Where’s the ambition?
That’s where silence commences…
Fearful it is to be great and not be inadequate
Easy it is to sit and watch reality television,
While avoiding responsibilities listed in your set of goals you probably haven’t looked at in a minute.
I can tell you because I’ve done it,
I’m not innocent…
So much time lost being cloaked in sorrows I wallow in often.
Shrouded by darkness reaching farther into my palms and,
Coercing them to stroke along paintings through words dancing around each other.
At times it’s my only glimpse of joy on a page…
Stories dripping from the corners of my mouth after a few drinks,
Making decisions I would never think.
Shot after shot,
After shots fired,
Is what I required,
For higher learning,
Burdened with a dire notion of igniting lighter fluid,
Sparked by matches with ink in the cap,
And strike upon internal flames trying to burn me away.
With tears down my face.
Writing stories in a page.
Of how my family disowned me for being a renegade.
Of how I lost myself and treated my girl like shit,
While I was full of hate.
Hoping others hear what I’m saying,
And not do the same…
Too many incidents seem to replay,
No matter what cause it is.
Realities passed down blindly from each generation to the next…
I just want to ask the man in blue sworn into oaths to protect,
How he feels when he spills blood of the helpless,
While dressed in his bulletproof vest…
I want to ask absentee fathers,
How’s it feel to be left comfy in their own company,
Mothers left with no sleep,
Barely any money with a child to feed…
I want to ask those women,
Deceitful and promiscuous,
How’s it feel to cheat on good men and get kicked to curb,
For bread you couldn’t fill inside the pantry of your own kitchen…
No use in bringing up drugs in the street.
Getting high became cool,
While we dab in our ignorance…
Too many questions,
Kind of like our futures,
Already determined by our past and present actions,
Still will it be unknown,
Of what’ll happen,
Unless we manifest what we truly want within our thoughts,
Past daily distractions…
If you spend so much time avoiding what you have to do,
At the cost of your success,
I guess you really do become everything you pay mind to,
Even if the price is death…
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