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
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