The Streets
Location
There’s a rhythm that haunts me.
Ssssssssssssouth Siiiiiiide,
Represent,
And die.
I hate the color blue,
I hate the color red.
My eyes are blue,
My blood is red.
I hate myself.
“Keep a look out”,
Call if you need me…
The bullet that passed between a child’s eyes,
As he walked with me to school…
His blood pooled around my feet
The knife that took another’s life,
Before he could call for a ride home…
His blood pooled inside my heart
I’ve seen so many…
Raids,
Moments of stillness
And fear.
Close my eyes tightly,
I have so many nightmares.
Screaming for a family that was never there.
Failing in a system,
Where I am a number,
Never a person.
“Silly naïve little bitch!”
Scars on my body,
Bruises covering my arms,
Broken bones,
Crushed lungs-
Crying for myself,
And praying for something…
…I never learned the word…
As I lay upon ashes,
Starring at scattered dreams across the darkness,
With my blue eyes.
Even if I am lonely,
We are all so lonely
Waiting for,
A strong, yet tender hand to hold onto mine…
When I am no longer in need of soothing…
No longer lonely…
A time when a child will walk with no fear,
No bullets between eyes.
A time when the streets when represent,
Do not murder us themselves.
We are not just statistics.
The streets play a rhythm that’s haunting,
Chorused with screams,
And bullets,
Before silence.