ELI

you can smell the money. the aroma is tempting. I know the power she possesses; Mastering the world, she has a hold on us. On me. very conniving, money. Masterful in the art of stealing our hearts. From what matters if we let it. Causing rifts in relationships, And breaks in the bank. she knows we need her. she plays right with our feelings. Slipping through some of our fingers, We can never keep a tight grip. because of her, some become addicts. Addicted to her lavishness. Addicted to the smell of her, Feel of her, look of her; Especially when her faces are blue. Kids that never seen a lot of her, Coming off the porch trying to get a glimpse. Holding hundreds, over excited. Parents saying “get in this house, its past dark. if you value your life.” But money make them wait there; On that block. She’s got a chokehold on them boys. Tight fist, hard hearts. “You’re gonna Let the money kill you, like it killed yo...

You can see the tears in his eyes, and his momma probably cryin’. He just wanna stay alive but, Black boys die to often where he resides. Streets marked up with chalk. No hopscotch. Bodies sprawled out on the cement. Out to dry. He witnessed it with his young eyes. He watched his cousin die, He held his brother in his arms as his soul was headed to the sky. Our black boys are witnesses. To killer cops, or black boys that say it’s nothing personal, “it’s strictly for the business” The hood doesn’t love you back. But shit, neither does America, when you’re black. So where are our kids safe at? Has anybody found our girls? (That’s a question for another poem...) You can see the tears in his eyes. And if his daddy is around he probably cryin. But I highly doubt it cause he lying. Said he wanna come and see him but ain’t even tryin’. Just like a nigga. Always “trying”, Never doing. Excuse my language, But, keep ...