Opinion

In Process by Terrence Brooks

He’s ten years old hanging on every corner

The scene is lethal, evil, unbelievable, like no otha’

chalk traces of his brotha’ in the thought of a mourner

shells from the bullets that were dumped on her scourner

all from the past years, selling dope is his only option?

No hope for the next grade, no next phase, just hell

No hope for college

His mentality sloppy

 

“Im gone get this money and who gone stop me”

Get rich or die trying to be like the other ballers ballin’

his heart turns colder as he walks past that yellow caution

knowing anyday his roof could be replaced with the top of a coffin

his consciences tossed like mcdonalds salad his momma bought when,

fighting cancer, thinking it’ll make her stronger as she fought

but before she off’d

herself, she forgot that all she taught em (was)

pulling on every trigger,

blasting on every n****,

Just another brown colored figure,

trying to make his money bigger

Is it this kids’ fault,

 

how he was abused and raised

how he Came out of the stomach with a drugs and guns in his face

how he came into a world, rights according to race

if he could change the noun

person thing or a place

press rewind on the tape

taking back every rape

taking back watching his brother, father and mother

get killed right in his face

taking back all of the negativity he learned watching television

Back to where it all started

No heaven, no hell, no guns, no drugs, no others, no prison.

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