Poetry

In the hood

The neighborhood I live
cracks, needles, wet floor and
scattered glasses in broken sieves
Being in the golden era of all
beginning, I’m gliding in becoming
the lifting halo over savvy drizzle falling
Originality manifests through questionnaires
the types would make you being different
every moment of mine
is the time signature
slathering the stories of the legends
on a long parchment music sheet
I have ammo, weapons, and soul
loaded, amended, ready to go
OG among OG, like wall writing
I’m the youth and fifth element you ever wanted to be
Placing the right punctuation in the musical notes
music flows in and out of my veins
restructuring my fiber and bones
I’m the painter and writer
the transformation of one culture
rectifying the clays with colors and words
the hood I’m existing
you need the understanding
of hip hop to grasp where we are gathering
Seeing me in the circle
you know I’m about to explode
my people across the globe
they’re sheltered and woke
I have some neighbors who died with no souls
for the misdeeds they committed to the hell poll
back in my days’ music united us
in which you’d die to approach
nowadays songs are poached
for the money and fame
like a long passing roach
Groovy and soul are missed
in between lines long ago
if you ever into this culture
please look up the elders
on how they’ve been sculptured

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