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My Hood


WesSyde

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y'all might remember my last poem i did about my car... my teacher wanted me to write a more serious poem with something i could expand on more so i decided to write about my neighborhood and what its like and how my life contrasts that. probably my best writing yet, i've really developed (and will continue to) since i started writing. i got an A on this so im pleased. btw, its a spoken word poem, so its not really meant to flow so i know it doesnt always flow :kekeke:

The train rumbles by behind a street called Main

A street where slang and cocaine reign supreme

A street where none of the residents have any dreams

In my hood we got our own acronym that goes MSG

That’s main street gangsta and that’s what you gotta be

Drug dealers walk the streets cautiously from time to time

Homeless drunks stumbling around begging for dimes

My hood consists of fake thugs roamin the streets

I feel sorry for em sometimes, they don’t got anything to eat

My hood consists of drug infested apartments, blunt ashes hittin the carpet

Young latino teens walk down the street smoking and drinking, out on the look though

“Oh sh!t, here come the 50, quick hop the fence yo!”

10 people living in backyards, renting out sheds

How can you live when you don’t have a proper bed?

Better yet how can you pay rent when all your money is spent

On alcohol and drugs, scrambling for every last cent

Last week saw my neighbor sick, being helped out to the car, he looked like sh!t

Alcohol poisoning? liver disease? kidney failure? probably all of it

Bright red shirts that read SC reflect the heat of the day

When you’re bored, out in the streets is where you play

Football in the street, nobody retreats until the oncoming traffic beeps

It’s a hectic life you see but I do my best not to let it influence me

I am greeted by the aroma of a clean house

Any time I want, I can recline on the couch

The front yard gleams with beautiful plants and a large tree

The back yard has a spa and a fresh cut lawn that is green

The inside of my house is clean, clear of clutter

Home cooked meals are the best, made by my mother

There’s always food in the fridge when I gotta eat

My parents shell out the bucks to put shoes on my feet

You see my parents made an effort to keep me out the street

So now I’m going to college and my career will be sweet

When I look at these kids roaming the streets, they got nothing

No food, no family, no hope, give ‘em something

I’m glad I’m not living life out in that captivity

My family and friends keep me away from those activities

I see these kids fighting in the street like almost everyday

I’ve been shown that violence and fighting isn’t the way

You’ll find yourself in prison, alive in the grave

In an orange suit working as a government slave

I’ve been shown that hard work and knowledge is the way

And one day that hard work and knowledge is gonna pay

I wish I could show these people how they’re wasting their day

But I guess the only thing I can do is kneel and pray

The reason I wrote this is to tell you to use your brain

There are a number of things that can make your life go down the drain

Don’t let peer pressure or popularity overcome your common sense

Cause if you do, you might be the homeless man scrambling for change and cents

Nobody wants to die so I pray to the sky that all of you don’t turn into that guy

Slangin them drugs, hangin with thugs, and braggin that he bustin them slugs

Like Mr. Carson [[my teacher]] said you gotta be true and realize that you gotta be you

And if you think the true you is drinkin’ that brew, then maybe you need to re-evaluate who are you

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As far as flow is concerned, I totally disagree. This poem has got it. It gets a lil varied but it's got it. If your teachers didn't give you an A on this (congratualtions btw), I'd say there was something seriously wrong with them. This poem was brillant Wes. You told of both sides righteously, compare and contrasting like you said. Really dope job Wes.

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