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Let me speak to you the words that reside between the lines of what defines poverty. Poverty....
Tripping over wires of The mental lies Society tells us to hide Behind a disguise
When I got on my knees for church And asked who am I doing this for? When I watched a man die on the street And wondered why anyone need be poor? When I heard students cry out for peers shot dead
Until we can live without fear of persecution From the color of our skin Or the accent with which we speak Or what other country we’ve lived in Until Social Justice is universal And accepted by all
White walls Question my worth because you can then drain my essence through your fingers I am sand I am sand. White walls They don't understand
We are marching on concrete stained red.
Black marker ink dries While moist dark brown skin shimmers Sweating the unjust
A father killed in the streets from a bullet fired from a gun in the hand of a man that was hired to protect and serve.
As he stumbles to the ground,
Waiting for time to pass Staring at a half empty glass Who is right Who is wrong No one has the answer
What are we doing?....What have we become? We’re just gang banging… Lampin’: Hanging out under a street-light, on gangsta turf waitin’ for a Ghetto Star: A top street drug dealer
"The horror, the horror!" They cry; yet what does it matter? They hide their faces even as the world Did THEN.