I spit my word with wrists;
Knuckles knock me down with red faces.
Shoelaces lost when school kid got zero,
Of course mom sees future muted by love of success:
“In this world, son, one day you will be a hero”.
Marks erupt like loops on vacation,
Instate new love crawls for none;
Of course I am from words told by many,
I am one of the ghetto heroes.
I speak flesh, I speak soul,
Of course I did carry, but at last I see no God existence,
Because of punches of life I can’t take.
That’s when I existed like a hero.
I make words through linen, for my dear heart for prayer,
On girls, I pray while my heart calls for prayer;
I am not a player.
Find my heart dangling in their heart of hearts,
I never mind if those days turn real.
I call for better days, that’s my final prayer