There won't be any people knocking on my door because I live in an unsolicited neighborhood. You see I live where the crack is sold, and the tales are told. You know the tales of people fighting and dying for street names that wasn't there's to start off with. Often we would blame the white man telling his tales and of course he's lying. We realized the Jehovah witnesses don't even ride through, we ignore it like we don't even have a clue. There are no Girl Scouts selling cookies door to door, no not in my neighborhood, not any more. When we hear gun shots we drop to the floor, we make a game out of it, three days sometimes four. Some of us are praying to the Lord that the Black man will wake up,but you know how it is in the hood they cry they are misunderstood. Some of their cries are all the same to me it sounds just like a game you see. You know the one they play quit often, I can't find a job, so I'm just going to have to rob.Their neighbors,their friends, their siblings, their lover, who will it be tomorrow someone's mother. Why can't we, the Blacks come together in unity, It is obvious It's not the white man who is lying, it is the Black community that's dying. Poem by Dmac
Reason for writing:
Just a thought
Birth sign: Taurus
You need to log in to edit this poem if it is yours.
View more poems by Dmac (Any response is appreciated).