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
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