This poem is the result of a poetry workshop from my old college. We had to write about an issue that angers us the most. In this poem, I took the stance of a young street soldier.
Why ?
Why does momma cry and the tears from her eyes hide the hate and crime I omit to the sky?
If I were her I’d quit, give up on this
This ain’t a life to live at all
From the womb I was destined to fall
Into the hands
Of
The hood
Or as we call it
The HOOD
Because we like covering ourselves from the real world
All we think we got is a gat, some hats, and a pack of blacks
Think it’ll make everything better, just light up, shoot, and look for the next piece to dig, ya dig?
Why?
Well its simple
Why I do this
For thrills
That my homies get after I overcome the chills
I dont wanna do this
But I know this life I take won’t have to suffer no more
Why I say that?
Cuz its true.
I wanna pull the trigger on myself sometimes
But I’m too scared to do it
In school… Before I left… They said guns are hatred
But I love my gun, it makes people happy
Like I said before, they won’t suffer no more
And plus, its the only thing that loves me…
Why?
Because I know my gun in someone else’s hand is gonna love me too one day.
Hopefully when I turn 13, that’s my lucky number…
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