423 north ave. a 979
United States
41° 54' 7.8156" N, 88° 4' 13.9728" W
South Africa

A number. 

A number foretells my future doesn't it? 

Will I be in jail or will death stand over my body as I bleed? 

Will that number have me throwing up in a toilet clutching guts while on my knees, 

Or will that number determine getting my 4 year degree or struggling to get my GED?


Numbers rise and morality falls,

There is no more right because in your eyes all you see is wrong, 

Black don't crack but the black sells crack,

Up and down my street the twelve doubles back, 

Awaiting that move as if I stepped on a crack breaking my mother's back.


But here we are, the ugly truth is the numbers await our actions,

Whether we get knocked up locked up or do a daily dose of weighing and packing, 

Look at the pigment in my skin, does it tell you what kind of position I put myself in? 

What kind of life you think that I live? 

What about the gang you think I bang in? 

Or the trap house you think I'm dealing dope in?



A young black girl.. 

You look at me as a minor set back to this society,

I am judged by my looks and my background which forms my notoriety,

You expect me to live off the government and never live to be who I want to be, 

Why support the government when the government doesn't even support me?


Sure every black boy wants to be a rapper, 

Just like every black girl wants to be on maury being the reason of the world's laughter,

Just like every black man wants to brag about his baby momma saying she tried to trap her, 

Just like every black woman wants to  wear fake hair around her head like a wrapper,


Want more truth? 

Never has it occurred to you that those numbers don't make our community. 

The numbers I put myself in is the number of how many A's I get.. All done by me, 

the number of colleges that look at me,

 the number of friends I make that works just as hard as me, 

The number of how many blacks won't fall but stand tall with me, 


These are the numbers we categorize in,

 sure there are people who make mistakes but there are people who also like to take the lead and I'm one,

Stop doing this black on black crime,

 go against the theory of not making it out the hood in time, 

Only you can control you so be the voice that chimes, 

Be the echo in our young one's ears and say that number is not a number of mine, 


Get a good job, a nice house, money in your bank account and make people aware of your success, 

The only time I never worked hard was the time I wasn't stressed, and that's never, 

Be bold addressing those numbers, they take you for weakness and eat up your endeavors,

My fellow black brothers and sisters you are what we call treasure, 

Not those numbers sorting out who finds gold and who bites silver.


As I stand before you or as you listen to these words,

You can make numbers decrease by making yourself do better instead of worse, 

It's a wake up call some might take it and some might not,

Do you want those numbers to define you or define why people want to take your spot?

This poem is about: 
My community
Our world


the cat

*Slams and breaks the like button*

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