Brused

We were born on the same day I was humble as he cried I lay in a plantation, he was in a private Ward Am a grown farmer, he is a stylist my mom laboured on duty Hers was a high heeled figure I cried for porridge and given water He cried for ribena and given juice I leaked the soil as he was on sweets I missed class for I lacked fees He missed to have a break My hustle gave me success, their money spoke Streets give me deals But gives them traffic Monthly earnings are his daily That my miles are my footsteps My opportunities are his dislikes I climb as he flies Our blood is red, able parents, Different levels of dreams My caliber is well defined