For us it’s a dreamjust to make it tothe next day,

with at leastone door on thehinges and a crumbof bread on ourstyrofoam plates,

not thinking aboutthe environmentbecause we’re toofocused on survival,

with death waitingon our arrival atevery corner wheresome strive for theircome up,

dealing & selling allof their future plans,sliding hands against thoseof the next woman &man to get closer totheir master plan,

that’s never finishedor replenished orforgiven, just mannedby a band of themwho break up whenthere’s a screw up,

throwing bodies in vans,turning guns sidewaysto prove a point onThursdays in broad daylightnear the MARTA train,blowing brains out from theneck up,

quality of life check-up,but you’re dead & thecommunity is scared toever stitch a snitch up,

then next minute anotherstick up with ourfists up saluting power tothe people while prayingour kids get up, stand up

for the right to live& sometimes we stealthat from our sister orour brother becausewaking up is blasphemyso we take our realitiesout on our neighbors,

but I guess that this iswhat it pays to dream inAmerica & still be a slaveto what caves in on usdaily.