The Projects: Homies

You make me sad for this world we're in. You're so confused and you don't even know it. You grow cold and show each other your cold heart when you should be so ashamed to show it. You interfere with the daily lives and the very happiness of others that are otherwise just like you- your equals. I blame you for the disgusting state this world is in...you turn around to find comfort in the evil old souls you've joined to be companions with. Your child lies awake one floor below mine, in her crib. Unable to move. Unable to cry for fear that those noises, mercilessly, will rise and their cause will appear right before her frozen heart. You present this to those who love you- over and over and over again, the noises. The fear. The mere way of life that is no life...that is how you live...you present it to her. The stench of urine in the stairwells leads up to your castle. You remove not your shoes. Shit in your elevators lead to your safe quarters...anything but safe. Men...homies...your homies...future rapest of your little girl...future cold file murderer...the bain to your very existance...you call him your homies and you bring him to your home...and you let him bring you out of your home. It takes no effort to tell you that you are no better than the men who once enslaved you. You are, yourselves, much worse than those men yourselves. You kill the dreams that was used to free you, the mothers that were sent to bare you, the young girls you put forth to carry your legend. You kill them all. You, lowly sloth whom empowers the way to unrightousness for your own kind...I hate you. Yet, I bare sufficient love for you to tell you that you must rise above the nastiness of your own ways.