Our home is no longer home, brother.
We are unable to process, contemplate, and excavate the foundation of our city.
I am unable to breathe in the change let alone satisfy the means of where I’m from.
For gentrification will not wash our homes.
My town’s a dump fire,
A strung out outlier-
Confusing the world’s wants and turning into needs.
But gentrification wouldn’t tell you that.
Gentrification wouldn’t tell you the confusion between homelessness and a fashion statement.
Making Whole Foods sound like a house of worship.
While Starbucks become the morning brew,
Brewing up a dissolution of a institution-
Vacuuming the dust from the fires of riots,
And creating a new diet to flush out the means.
The means made of poverty,
Low banked economy,
And out of all honestly-
I wish it wasn’t hard to be alive.
Alive in a city made of bricks,
While the cops are up to their tricks,
And I’m not hearing lick-
From a person of a whiter tone calling me a spick.
I’m just calling in sick.
Sick of the bullshit,
While the young kids look for new shit-
To play... with.
Becoming ghetto scholars,
While folks try to holler-
At the thought of getting out of this dump.
But in this town we don’t succeed,
And in this town you don’t achieve-
But I believe... it’s bullshit.
Sick of this-
Thought that we can get flushed out.
To satisfy the masses.
As they’re cleaning out my glasses,
And lecture me in classes-
To give a healthy “habit...”
To not cuss at the thought of this new change.
In my town-
Where the streets have bigger holes than the depths of our hearts.
I mean-
My town isn't great,
It never was.
Talking about a city made of bricks, grass, and broken glass.
Now this town is nothing more than police sirens, wandering "fireworks," and the bitter sweet tastes of loud.
Creating ghetto scholars,
From the mindsets of delinquents to gangs,
And every life is just bland.
I mean-
No one here feels overall different,
Just the city to its streets.
As it tries to gentrify,
And purify-
The idea of what it's brought up to be.
For gentrification would not wash away our hearts.
As gentrification can only hide so much.
But I don’t.
I mean I could have spent life-
Just smoking joints, but what’s the point?
Marijuana could never wanna-
Show me succeed.
The same way racist cops would have seen me as a “bad seed.”
But then again, everything in this town is like a bad dream.
But it’s home.
Where the talent dies young, and the dummies shoot with gunnies.
And I’m not even running.
As gentrification can only hide so much.
But in this town... I don't.
As I dream of a better world because there must be.
About the Creator
Jay Evans
Just a guy who's 22 and bored, looking for new meanings to life and going about it one sock at a time... even if the sock has a hole in it
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.