Get Your Premium Membership

Growing Up Black In the Getto

it was pure hell was in a jail sell all this rings my bell being poor I need a open door no food money you know made me sometime my mind would blow GROWING UP BLACK IN THE GETTO

Copyright © | Year Posted 2016




Post Comments

Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.

Please Login to post a comment

A comment has not been posted for this poem. Encourage a poet by being the first to comment.


Book: Reflection on the Important Things