The Boy in Black

I never really fit in much,
I never had any friends.
I never even told a joke,
And I never wore the trends.

Red and Blue are my favorite colors,
Well, at least they used to be,
But now they only bring me dread,
I’m not afraid – I refuse to be.

The first group of friends I ever made,
They promised I’d have fun
They were all a lot older than me,
And they always carried guns.

They took me underneath a bridge,
Around 3:00 A.M.,
They beat me till I couldn’t move
Then I was one of them.

You represent a color,
A name, or neighborhood.
You’re taught to feel inadequate,
Violent, misunderstood.

Red and blue bandanas,
red and blue lights,
red blood blue bruises
and you‘re bleeding through the night.


I’m not sure why I am doing this
But that's the oath I swore.
Now everyday and every night,
I’m a prisoner of war.

We divide the world up into blocks,
And imprison ourselves inside.
And when one of them crosses the street,
That’s when the sides collide

Inside this territorial prison,
You feel no worth for your own soul,
Because you’re locked in here forever,
With no probation or parole.

We’re recruiting people to our side,
One after another.

But yet I pray to God,
That they won’t find my little brother

If one of our men is taken out,
Someone else has got to pay.
And when we show up on their block,
They know they will die today.

Red and blue are the most common,
But after every night’s attack,
If there’s a body in the street,
I see the boy in black.

I’ve never seen his face,
And I hope I never do.
But I have a feeling that he’ll come for me,
Before he comes for you.

I go out around eleven,
I’m in hell another night.
There’s bullets flying everywhere,
Another pointless fight.

I see someone running towards me,
And everything seems to mute.
I pull my gun out from my pocket
I cock it and I shoot.

Another life I’ve taken
I pretend I’m not afraid
But a bullet has no conscience
It’s just another price to pay

I look into the face,
Of the one that I just killed.
My little brother’s lying there,
My soul finally drilled.

The boy in black appears,
A pause in time and space,
The boy in black is me,
And he has my broken face.

I never should have come here,
Now I know I won’t see heaven.
I know don’t belong here,
Because I am only seven.

love

Love is a complicated thing. Some people love too much, others not enough. From where I'm standing, love is more than just a deep affection for someone or something. Love is your independence, your foundation, your soul. Once you give it away, you can no longer stand on your own. People often say that life is empty without love. I agree, in some ways. You don’t have to love somebody. And no one has to love you. But if you go through your days without loving anything, then life isn’t worth living. Without passion, desire, or dreams, you can’t expect happiness. But then again, maybe you don’t want it. Maybe you’re like me, so used to being miserable that once happiness comes along, you shoot it down. Not liking the difference, not expecting the change. Whether you love or not is up to you. But you should love. Not someone, but something. Anything. When you love something, you may no longer be able to stand on your own, but when you’re standing, you’re just standing. You can’t stand and fly at the same time.

made of me

I'm not outgoing. I'm not brave. I'm not even imaginative. But this isn't about me. This is about street gangs and def poets. This is about cloudy nights and cold skin. This is about all the times you feel fear, and all those songs on your iPod that you don't know why you have. This is about everything. anything. This is a chance when I can say what I want to say, exactly how I want to say it.

God created the world in seven days, and it takes as little as seven seconds, for mine to shatter. My world rides a roller coaster. It straps itself in and throws it's hands in the air. And while everyone else enjoys the ride, I'm sitting there thinking "Why the hell did I get on?"

It doesn't get better than this.

There isn't much to say about me. I am hard as rock, invincible, and breakable. While my exterior may come across as warm and alive, inside I am cold, and barely breathing. But I'm not dead, yet. I am not weak. I have been broken, beaten, and betrayed, but here I am.

Still standing.

The people around me? They do everything they can to get skinnier, prettier, smarter. But when I look around I see fat, ugly, stupid people. I'm not pessimistic. I just prefer to see beauty in the world, rather than the people in it. I enjoy things that are real. And not many people fit that description.

I spend most of my time exploring my own mind. So I guess this blog is a chance for you to come along.

Take it or leave it.