Before Nine

I've lived for eight years, before I turn nine, Is there a chance that I'll ever get mine? Will I see another crony of mine getting smoked? Will I be told parables from all the grown folks? Should I be countin' on life's major letdowns Will I still be seeing another street shakedown? Before I'm a decade, I've got one more year Will I still be held under a monotonous glare? Can they still incite me as a stereotype Talk about notoriety, am I living the hype? Should I best be robbin', stealing, or kill? After all, life done given its share of ill will Will my studies give way to criminal activity Am I destined to repetition in my city of nativity? Before nine, should I fall to childish delinquency If crime I'm born in, is this my consistency? Am I judged by this system as a youth of risk Should I plead my case now, should I stand tall and brisk? Can I place hope on athletics, music or learning Or is the door shut, and locked up, and burning? Can I test out the paths, can I open up the lids Or is it already decided that I'm just a kid? Before I turn nine, has adulthood been set Is my fortune as dim, will misfortune be met? ---This is a piece I wrote when I was eight years old--living in the slums of Florida.