Sweet Ole’ Bronx – Day 262, Never Give Up On Your Dreamz

Mean mugs,
A blunt,
And,
A Yankees fitted.
Living in the projects with heat tucked,
And,
An arm full of bad bitches.
Sipping on a 40 ounce of Budweiser,
While pitching drugs hoping to climb up from rags to riches…

It’s what He sees on concourse,
Claiming to be King,
Bridging the gap between an escape from a con torn,
From paradise found in a dollar to afford,
What will never satisfy…

The home of Hip Hop is where He resides,
Bouncing around from house to house in a trap he’ll fight,
To the death!
Until blood spills revealing a truth most of us refuse to accept.
How it’s all a lie to begin with…

Three decades of life on my hand,
And,
The Bronx hasn’t changed a bit.
Such beauty to be seen,
Yet,
Tainted by a lack of remorse for it’s blurred vision of what life is.
Blood splattered on each pupil in search for vices,
As green as grass most are buried underneath of with an undying will to keep silent…

But,
I love it!
There is no other place like home for a poet bred by the danger it covets.
I’m stuck with,
Each sound of a gun being blasted while ducking,
And,
Weaving away from a box while clutched with,
A weapon in hand.
A journal with a pen,
And,
Pad…