The Poet From the Hood

poet from the hood rapping to himself entirely misunderstood expressing his emotions his whole life full of nothing but chaos and commotion imagination is his escape potion thankful to be alive mentally exhausted of the daily grind and strive lyrically inclined words swarm in his eclectic mind like bees near a hive no pen, no paper only a white tee, grey sweats and street jive open-word, open-street mic many people in his life on the pipe latch-key kids sit quiet in the dark from fright gangs beef on the corner at night fast money, fast cars they chains be all gold medallions hands full of rocks and ice sometimes he wished his neighborhood was a little more nice poet from the hood what would, what should perhaps one day things could …no rings, no chain just his sidewalk poetic game only the locals know his name