You looked down at me like I was junk, and said I was a lowlife punk, there was no limit to the things I did, I was just a stupid kid. The neighborhood says that I'm a nuisance, and to the church, a poor influence. The polititians want to get rid of me, Succeed in life? your killing me? I'm just trying to stay alive, in a jungle where it is hard to survive, it is hard just getting by, I only smile, when I am hi. Don't put your wallet in your pocket, hold on to your jewelry, so I may hock it, so I can run out into the back, and buy myself a bag of crack. What can I say, I got nothing to give, I am drowning here, this is no way to live. . .
Reason for writing:
Please don't ask if I do crack. It's just a poem. I have never taken a drink, smoked a cigarette,or did any kind of drugs. I just would like to understand the people who do that sort of thing. They must have a pretty messed up life to want to change their life to the point where they alter their entire state of consciousness.
Birth sign: Libra
You need to log in to edit this poem if it is yours.
View more poems by Erica Hughes.