On Our Own

Quickly, is your busy city

tipsy from the whiskey

of risking the needy

for comfort’s needs?

As we pick pixies

to please our babies,

gypsies pity the future

we predict for siblings

burdened by a suitor

of shooters since infancy.

Nipsey’s hustle humbles our trouble.

We struggle to rumble the rubble

of his castle as a catalyst

for adamant activist

to advocate that smoking people like cannabis

is archaic like an abacus.

And the hood is ravenous

for analysts to analyze

the sighs of ambulance sirens

that sign the firing

of bullets at a fellow black man’s iris.

I’m just tiring of tires

peeling off stealing healing

and leaving meaning bleeding

black blood filling our feelings.

I mean do you feel me?

How do we get those ghettos

to throw out trolls

digging holes for black souls?

Cause we know

the government and Jim Crow

rose off the back of my bros

while they froze us from the polls.

And to pull people

from the sovereignty of poverty

is probably more complex than giving property.

But we’re plagued by prophesy

that either blames

people for the way

they play the game

or by names that frame their fame

from the poor’s pain.

But the same shame

that lays claim to gain your brain,

aims to tame the sane

who remain slain by Cain.

And a cane can’t support

the sort of limping gripping the poor.

But you reform your remorse

to reward reports of rapport

and ignore our resort to retort

we’re still short of core resource.

As long as the affluent

continue to influence

humans to avoid fluid fusing

with the destitute like the flu,

prudence has proven

we must be students of ruin

and begin moving in movements

pursuing improvement of our unit.

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