Poetry Corner: A Chance’s Ballad

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Ms. Dyson, I wanna believe but how am I supposed to have faith when I walk in these streets.
vacos, hookers and needles
Everything around me was designed to defeat me.
Yea I hear what you saying and trust that you’re true but none of that is helping me deal with the constant red and blue.
The pop pop pow
That’s as common as music.
Normalized.
I can’t function in this state of calm you’re pushin’.
You’re intentions are good but your advice to walk away from the war that is my life might get me killed.
See conflict is not just a conflict.
Conflict is life.
Just like war, street conflicts speak dollars and these dollars put food on the table.
Ms. Dyson, I know you wouldn’t want me to abandon my family.
These dreams you speak of and hopes you have for me…
There no room for.
Dreaming is selfish.
No room for dreams in the hood.

Can’t even dream in my sleep
You’re always poking me
“Not in my room” you say
Then where?
How many times I gotta tell you I gotta a family to feed
And I’m only 16 so not too many tryna pay me
Its aight tho
I learned young not to depend on no one.
The hustle is the only constant.
Can’t do my kinda hustle under the eye of the sun
And to protect what’s mine sometimes I have to use my…
Well, I don’t want you to see me that way.

Would you believe me if I said I don’t want to be bad?
Do you think God hears me when I tell him I’m sad?

What kinda God would let so many innocent people struggle?

Not my God.

Where I’m from, you gotta be your own God

And sometimes someone else’s.

Life and death lies in the index finger.

Mine is on the trigger

But Ms. Dyson believe when I say I wanna be a better person.

I do some fucked up things

But I believe the means justify the ends.

Maybe I won’t be shit

But lil sister…

She’ll be a queen.

Inspired by books and classy things.

My baby Bro

Won’t ever know the struggle of poisoning his own.

No hope for me except my hopes for them.

So I sacrifice

So they can be

Be better

Be happy

Hell anything that requires them to be… here

The world I mean.
Ms.Dyson did you hear about the murder today?

Walked out the door and I saw the crime scene tape on display/

Not even 7am and it’s already hot.

It makes me sick

Knowing that nigga coulda been me.

Pure or corrupt

We all have targets on our backs.

Keep ya back against the wall so you see the threats coming
I wanna be everything you say I can be

But that kinda success means jumping blindly.

Do you think I can afford blind faith?
You say everything thing worth having is worth fighting for.

Well, I’m fighting for my life.

But maybe just maybe you’re right

Look, If I make it through another night

If I can walk down one block without getting shot

I’ll reach for the stars you talk about.

I’ll be somebody special you can brag about.
Bang bang pop.
Ms. Dyson…

just say you’ll never forget who I was

Not the thug the news will describe me as

Know that I wanted everything we talked about

Just feels like I was never given the . . .

Just feels like life stole my . . .

Just feel like this bullet just ended my . . .

chance.

 

 

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*This poem is not to be republished.