My town, My home, My life

Location

92507
United States
33° 58' 24.438" N, 117° 19' 35.0004" W

Los Angeles
I walk this city everyday of my life
if I go by car or by skate board, bike
I came across some delays in this time a day
whether running from crips or an old lady cane
possible even from idea of police stains
hell maybe even from mothers ways
there is a reason why I walk this city that lays
but then you get to what city limits state

community
now a sense of identity is engulfed
too many run ins or run ups to be sought
a hit an miss idealistic way is being portrayed
by the media
nevertheless to claim the birthright of ignorance
that my father is sliging, using, or banging
that my mother is a no good whore in reality
my sister is only good on her back
and my brother is dead for a fact
the difference between a pizza box and my father?
the pizza can feed a family of four with out a police bother
I am the product of my enviorment
I believe God owes me some endowment
either to be paid in gold for my soul
the knife under my pillow is stained
with blood
the slits in my epidermis has long been flowing
dull red not blue has been flooding
of my torn soul
yes I see you see
but then there is no correliation between me and thee
no
there is no lasting job or house not apartment in sight that is keen
no
where there was trust for my brotha who stands next to me is still there
no
why is it that Im seen as a useless strand of hair meant to be on a huge head
no
no
no
this is what I was transformed by society to be, a fear to you
the medialy monster is what made me the animal, I know not what i do

my home
I am who I am but not what the media imposed on me
I am who I am because I dare be different an dream
I do have dreams like martin luther king in theory
I live in a hood urbia with a sociatal mathematic mean
add my pain sorrow and grief and divided by my years of solitary
correct
call me a loner, I have no friends, I play video games online by myself, not a clutch team player, I would sell myself for a dime
absolutely
I use the medium provide by the desk in my room, the thoughts come from the broke down heart and is consumed
I am what you think of me because of the dam over exaggeration of the few in the daily 9 o'clock news
I am what you see because of the tainted hue in the opitical illusion you watch that is so vividly
lively
conivingly
and yet distorted by a minority in the minority derived from africa can you believe?
take me back home but it doesn't lie on 63rd
it lies too far away for me to catch the 108 to 73rd
my home is an unquenchable belief that I can be seen with out the chains of racism that is so keen to show that Los Angeles is not what is seems
my home is the idea that I am a respectable young man that can pass my cahsee and the ACT and SAT without having to cheat
my home is that of a lost and begotten factor of following MY american dream
my home... my home has been reposed in america's failing economy...
but that doesn't stop the me
my pen still bleeds

Me
I am the reincarnation of Asa Alexander Garret
no one eles is as close to him but on the contrary
no other soul is in comparisson but that of his own
not to say I'm not his governmental clone
but that I am a unknown
I am unknown to the world but yet a pressence
I have contemplated the idea of suicide, inheritant
to the brink of self destruction
my writing is superman
my thoughts are kryptonite
this is a paradox when conveyed
I know when my welcome is way over stayed
but the the neigh sayers they say neigh
just as the decievers will tell you they are here for you everyday
bewilderment is how I play
the wilderness is how I describe my soul in aide
trees of insecurity and bushels of how I should behave
the moss covered bodies of happiness that died along they way
for I know why the caged bird sings
it is for my freedom of speech to ring
it is for my vocie to be heard
every word to be spoken to the world
I am... I am me.... the me who came from slavery, civil war, segregation, racism, born the year after 1992 , I am what the evil sins of the fore fathers who carried the white mans burden produced, I am those who walked the trail of tears because of Andrew Jackson, I am me because of what happen back then
I don't write shakespearical tragedies
I don't endorse what a capitalistic world imbeded in me
Never
I write for who wrote to those willing to die for what they believe
I write for a remedy for the pain that many find out to be a fatality
I write to confess my sins and be saved for a time of eternity
I write... I write....
I am me who no one eles can be nor be who is not me
I am who I was and who I is and who I will be
I am Asa Alexander "The Gidieon" Garrett you see

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