Tears get spilled out in liquor bottles
Out of broken homes rise out infested drug zones
R.I.P. signs are written graffiti cans
With flowers placed alongside an illustration of
a lost father, a husband, a brother, a son, a best friend
Hungry cats walk the streets with anger
Numbed out by this system young males and females are strung like hangers
Another day a young lost baby needs he/she bleeds for help
These are life and things we are obliged to see
Outside my window I see numb children singing vulgarities while my
Heart cries my head bops to the beat
I see crimes going down and poverty rising
More jails being built for corporate enterprising
Small momma pops are shutting down while gentrified corporations are smiling
On project rooftops you can see rubble and smoke
And is not the burning twin towers the cig’s smoke and ashes of our lives
In back of school parks young cats work on their jumper
Across the street thugs are working on their drug hustle
Selling their souls to smuggle drug struggle
Not using their potential and their mental muscle
Cops lock us up
Not caring to solve the problems
Jobs and affordable housing
Instead they look at your clothes and begin the profile
End up in a cellblock to deteriorate and slowly die
I know cause my best friend my brothers have that image in their eye
Is Brooklyn Bushwick Bed-Stuy
Do or Die
In my hood we got blue collars, and street scholars
We also have sellouts that dance for imperial America and their dollar
Beautiful black Nubians and beautiful Tainas, south Latinas shaking their Asses for top pay
Conditioned to struggle for crumbs and leave the community astray
The visions of my ghetto cry out for help
But who’s listening?
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Dynamic Magazine
