I wonder if our views crossed paths, if suddenly I’d see your need to position yourself on the block daily for a ‘happy’ meal.
The only side of happy you get to experience on the regular, although irregular moves can be unpredictable, you find a way.
Perhaps, if my mother was cracked out and my father an all-star felon, I’d understand the drive to be an all-star pusher. Pushing life to the very limit until I explode like the word, I feel the impact on sight.
Face beginning to tick, anxiety ridden, constantly on the run; dodging fear, dark clouds and white shadows.
I’d understand your untamed nature, wild as a stallion, bucking for a buck. Whatever for the dollar.
I hear the echo in your thoughts, as you unconsciously speak to yourself, preparing for the next lick.
I wonder if I shared Angela Davis’ message on mobility, you’d rethink your thoughts.
But I know, the dopeman is your motivation.
This money is your motivation.
Hell, you gotta eat right?
Why should his life mean anything when your baby girl’s tummy is crying out for attention?