Born a mistake, mama left me out the gate,
Handed to the system, traded love for cold hate.
Foster homes, bars as my lullabies,
Young poet scrawlin' rhymes under blacked-out skies.Ink pen my savior, notebook the truth,
Lost boy in the gutter, searchin’ for proof.
Cells colder than December, 12 years old in chains,
Gavel hit, future stolen, tied to my name.
Juvenile dreams in a grave they tossed,
But my ink drew maps from the streets to the cross.
Couldn’t trust no man no hand to hold,
System chewed me up spit me out in the cold.
Came out fightin pain turned to fire,
Scribbled my survival, climbed outta the mire.
Birth certificate folded, mom's name erased—Vanished world put me in rotation, foster homes managed Juvenile cells, cement walls painted in sin Bars for meals, my first crib made of iron and skin Ink my only friend, my pad my only light
Writing on the wall when the darkness ate the night Pawned by a system, pieces torn in the breeze
But this pen sings louder than the chains on my feet Air thick with the stench of hopeless conversations Stepped through the gates, adult time, new location Shackled future, guards laugh, they say I’m through But they don’t see the ink, the pad, the things I do Ghetto hieroglyphics etched deep with my rage
Mashed every failure into lines on this page
System said I'm dead, ash to dust in the wind
But in poet's corner, only God and my pen
Born in the belly of the beast, no receipt for the pain Mama passed my heart off, shackled in a chain
Raised by the streets, from the cradle to the cage
Ink pen my sword, notepad my stage
Counted me out, left me buried in the dirt
From foster homes to cells, carried all the hurt
System tried to break me, but I rise from within
My only guide through hell was my pen and pad
Juvenile blocks, where the lights never gleam
Bars whisper lullabies, haunt a broken dream
Fighting ghosts of my blood, searching for my kin
Only thing that spoke back was the ink in my pen
left me buried in the dirt
From foster homes to cells, carried all the hurt
System tried to break me, my Ink pen my only friend, my pad my only light
Writing on the wall when the darkness ate the night
Pawned by a system, pieces torn in the breeze
But this pen sings louder than the chains on my feet Count the scars, this skin is a scroll of pain
But through the concrete cracks blooms a song in my brain Every bitter goodbye, every tear, every blow I'd rhyme ‘em in the corner, plant verses, let it grow
Prison gates sang, melody of despair,
But words in my pad, took me out of there.
Judge gave me numbers, I made ‘em bars,
Wrote ‘til I reached the moon, scratched the stars.
Ink pen my savior, notebook the truth,
Lost boy in the gutter, searchin’ for proof left for dead, still I defy,
Scratchin’ words in the dark, I learned to fly.
Poet419
