Camouflage

They tell me to express myself with words so foreign that I question myself. Verbatim. Diction. Syllabic expression. Please explain to me, a kid from the projects, what the hell you talkin about? Cuz where I'm from you spit rhymes like bullets. Lock and load. Don't wait for a reaction. Ready, Set, Go! Crime is our muse, drugs are our fuel. You can judge from a distance but remember. We don't affiliate with none of yo crew, talkin bout red, white, and blue. I consider myself patriotic to my youth. But if I dare break down these walls myself.... You will see that I am an exquisite young lady hidden underneath "white trash." I call it camouflage. Don't you see? I can explain to you the differences between an Italian and an English Sonnet. Describe the meter of a Langston Hughes piece, or even write a couplet myself. But those things won't teach you how to survive. No. Not around here. So I'll act illiterate, and act like I don't give a ****. Just to prove a point. But in the back of my mind I'll be counting rhyme to make sure that words come out in time. All the while I'll delude my real self till I am no longer in the presence of fools. I'll hide behind the green bushes and tumbleweeds that are my second self. And put my dictionary back on the shelf. Because unfortunately to be real means to be ignorant, and to be intelligent means to be indignant.