Always a Hustler

Every hustler has fallen.
Cracks in the concrete is how the streets are watching.
Calling me back, i thought i closed that door?
Slipping into darkness heating up my toes.
Rock bottom balling is a choice. 
Do or die. Be heard or make noise?
Bodies traced in chalk then go void.
Last time i checked I'm dealing with faith.
like a rose that grew from under the pavement. 
A hustler dies a hustler is made.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2014

Poem

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