Dear Those Who Don't Understand How I Live And Simply Refuse To Understand.

This placid playground lined with rusting bullets is what i grew up in. A conglomeration of twisted metal lines this place of has been happiness and if one were to walk around these metallic missiles they would see that they have names on them. I can see R's, H's, A's, Z's, i can see scarlet red blood on plain white tees, and after being hung from trees we are slowly being brought to our knees so please sit and listen while i list out a few hypothetical hypotheses. My eyes invert and refract, zoom in and retract the images i see on a 2d screen and they see 3d bodies and 4 seconds later i see a man who looks like he puts 5 k's in his okays because he's trying to cover up his admiration of that thing that has 2 less. Stumbling simplistic sentences signaling simplemindedness slowly stem top over bottom, left over right, right over wrong from the mouths of this new kid on a block hundreds of miles away in a caste millions of dollars above as they say "another man left dead after gang violence" but the economic inequality that's leading to his increased equity is the very cause of his esoteric story. But let's talk about the man. They more so mention his time as a drug dealer when he did it that one time when he was 20 to pay for his mothers mortgage they more so mention that one time where "he was at another gang related crime" when he was in fact 19 blocks away at the time talking with his 18 year old son for the 17th time about how police use 16 shots to kill a 15 year old black boy so how long until his 14 year old brother is next since it only takes 13 seconds for the police (excuse me, the 12) to wipe out 11 of us and beat us to within 10 seconds of our life. That's the neighborhood I grew up in. Where right across from Gods church you see a corner store titled "The Devils Liquor", where around the corner from the 5 star hotel filled with enough money and apathy to inflate the monster known as donald's trumps ego, you find that overpopulated prison labeled "where the negroes go."  Ive seen about as much as red tape as i've seen happy days, and in this wonderless wonderland the past and the present part from each other to present the future and the future isn't exactly a future i want to participate in so please partake in my pessissm and i'll spit some passive participles impressively for just these few seconds. Now this is where you might think "here he goes. this is where he goes on a rant talking about things we already know" WELL LET ME TELL YOU. That white as rice, lice, and fluorescent lights  newscaster with a mouth that spoke about things he truly didn't understand showed you a graphical pie chart detailing the graphic details of a graphic world but he's only seen the red tape in a shape of a body or some yellow tape over a house and from this chicago style hot dog he automatically thinks that we're a city full of drug dealers, murderers, and gun toting maniacs gunning down innocent people in 4 wheelers but. that. IS NOT. how it goes. Black, black, and black are all anyone sees for us and it's either the blackness of blindness, the black of the corpses, or the black of that imaginary glock that pops into his mind whenever he visualizes Chicago, oh no excuse me. Chiraq.  Don't doubt me as i doggedly disassemble the dreary dreams of dread that crawl carelessly caressing your cacophonous curiosity but booming bombastically besides your berates allows another amazing alleyway to open so i can finally teach you that so many of the things that you've been taught are just. so. wrong. So please take heed and listen for this isn't meant to be a sob story, this isn't meant to be that poem that takes a back seat in your minds filing cabinet right behind "why can't i say the n word" this is meant to WAKE YOU UP. Remember my message for i'm not just up here to perform i wish to educate. Don't believe everything you hear unless you see it. If i never said anything about this, none of y'all wouldve been able to tell who i am and where i came from for i come from a land of misinterpretation, stereotypes, and understatements. A land that's surrounded by wastelands titled the "You do this to yourself" deserts or the "You wouldn't be getting shot if you acted like humans" suburbs. That's where i came from. That's what i grew up in.

This poem is about: 
My family
My community
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


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