here are spaces amidst the sidewalks
in places both landlocked
that lack love, not within, but from short drives away
where numbness is prescribed from polished estates
but here, the cement is cracked.
between these uneven gaps
a strike slip fault line persists
3 strikes to a prison pipeline
and weeds growing between bricks
like weed growing to feed the kids.
there’s only X jobs in the system
that aren’t paying 7.25 for people in these credentials
and if they’re all taken,
by my wisdom,
one can only reach his highest potential
if he lives off licit and illicit means to make rent...
now you tell me,
if you were born here, in this transect of neglect,
and were given choice A to slave for pocket change dimes
or plan B but know freedom lies between friends' graves and crime time
i think between these cracks you’d see
that C is what he really needs, though it's none of the above.
he needs your love.