The Real Problem

What hurts more?

A broken heart or broken hands?

Does it hurt to watch young brothers and sisters lying in the ground?

The Molly says, "Oh no! Another one!"

While Darquan says, "Oh well! They got another one!"

The media gets it twisted you see, CNN portrays a Caught Ningorant Negro,

Fox turns the black box into a "colorless" box, and MSNBC thinks that kid could possibly be me.

Of course my life matters, and so do your's, but does it make sense to praise gangsters for speaking out?

It's confusing when the weed seller quotes scripture for the camera, when the crack-head is on his knees praying instead of begging, or even worse when the pimp stands on the altar like people can understand what he is saying!

If you're waiting for answers on how to make the West End the best end or the South Side and turn it Wayside and make it look like Bayside, then I guess you're wasting your time, cause the answer is within you.

Your side is our side, there isn't a end because we must lean over to lend a hand.

Why ask the white man to stop killing when it is us killing each other?

Why ask the white man to stop stereotyping when young black men sag, curse, and leave their wife and kid?

We are no longer slaves, so why do people continue to act the way that "they" expect us to?

Yes, an innocent black boy being murdered by a white cop is awful, but does it make a innocent black boy getting shot by a gang banger ok?


It's an endless cycle of pain and turmoil, but society believes that point fingers at the authority works, when in fact the finger must be pointed at our neighbors.

The ghetto is the ghetto because citizens allow it to be the ghetto.

I'd cut off my hands if it meant no more black-on-black violence, no where to put the gun, no where to place knife, and it won't be easy to hit my wife.

Please read these words carefully, we're only as smart, only as creative, only as determined, only as courteous, only as grateful,

As we allow them to see.


This poem is about: 
Our world


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