i b ghetto

b-ing ghetto supposedly means
b-ing battered by the blows of jagged woes
my form left haggard from the staggering height of problems
shattering my view of the sun
you think I’m that one
wrung dry of hope, head hung and lungs filled with
the smoke of ten dollar dope
my voice a constant holler against folk
who don’t live where I live
or die where I die
a holler against folk
who don’t cry like I cry
you think i
suffer through each day
just wishing I could die
to escape my neighborhood full of either
niggaz with trigger happy fingers
or cracked up bitches with lingering twitches
and old stitches tracking their guts
from the lack of birth or body control

well, that ain’t the only way ghetto folk roll

if you ever strolled through the perceived hell
you call my ghetto cell
you’d behold the golden light of young and old
souls shining bright through the oppressive folds
of unknown foes
those folk who overlook our glow and instead
seek to show us only the bleak view of ourselves
as if no hues of beauty could be construed
from the cracked concrete fracturing our streets
as if no joy could be secreted from spirits downbeat
as if each minute of our existence is replete with our defeat

if you ever bothered to step inside
the place I reside
you wouldn’t be so quick to stick
negative signs on our brick
telling us we sick
you wouldn’t be so slow to know
positive grows beneath your nose
and from rich soil we all rose
if you ever bothered to step inside
the place where I reside

but instead you point and snicker at us from the outside

malign our minds cuz they ain’t confined by society’s define
mine our shine then claim it’s yours but only more ‘refined’
assign crimes to our rhymes and not the capitalistic climb
enshrine our dead martyrs while you dine on our decline

then whine cuz our agenda ain’t aligned with your design

but digressing into explaining your transgressions
prevents me from addressing your misconceptions
of the ghetto’s imperfections…

look closer…

we b
bitches and hoes
sistas and bros
chickenheads willing to blow for the snow

look closer…

we b
folk working 80 hour weeks for little dough
children in schools where the quality’s low
parents with little time to watch their kids grow
teens who wear expensive clothes purely for show

look closer…

we b
folk you don’t know cuz you never stop through
folk whom you purposefully misconstrue
folk whose acknowledgement is long overdue
cuz we ain’t just the foundation, we’re the fucking GLUE

look closer…

and recognize

the ghetto in YOU