I swear
There are a lot of young corpses in the cemetery,
But I’m alive,
Lucky me.

I reach home
And reach out to put my key in the door,
I see all the scars around my knuckles,
It’s reached a point where I can’t take no more.

I remember each scar like I got it yesterday,
Staring at this guys face
Thinking besides being of the same race
This guy’s face is just like my face,

There are people all around
But they don’t help you
Just seemingly gaze at some far away object
And police and Loved ones can’t hear you

Just don’t run out of breath
Don’t cry
Don’t drop, don’t miss
And hopefully you won’t die

I hope God never saw what happened
Because if he did he ignored me
Why?
Maybe he is black and in the penitentiary…

The pressures getting to me, it’s hard to study
My teacher would never understand
Sir
Look at what I have to go through to become a man

So much effort in the poems
Why? Because I might die, but the poem lives on
That’s why I want every poem to be great
Because it might just be my last one.