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I’m from the hood

I was told that I am too soft because I don’t brag about where I’m from…
Well, I’m from the hood where we vote for empty promises of jobs and not freedom. Because we turn to forget that promises are never real unless prepared, so hard for one to point fingers cause even our leaders are like preachers who are preaching self-made status off pockets of others. So hard to blame the young one who open clubs and pubs on Fridays and close taverns on Sundays to open books. Cause even our parents drink to drown their sorrows every night because they’re are too sorry to face their sorrows.

Maybe I should be sorry to be part of this generation or do I worry too much about people who only care about wealth. Well, I’m from the hood where money equals power but you’d wonder, how many families can’t afford the bills? So we survive the 9-to-5 just to survive. Earn more shifts to beat the bills cause even the nights shifts are not enough shifts. But, do we earn enough compared to our competitors cause the competition of being realistic is our slavery.

Unlike Martin who had a dream, I’m from the hood where dreams are nightmares. Money is respect and the paper rules. Illegal means don’t be caught out of the law by the law. Weed is legal under the shade of money tree. Or maybe money is the need off it, Or maybe it’s benefits are hidden behind “il” within ‘illegal‘. I don’t know, but I know that where I am from love is an acronym for legs open very easy. Well, to the self-made ladies it’s an easy pay cheque. To recheck they’ll tell you it’s a deck. If you ask me, I believe them cause the girl I gave three years to happened to be a lesson of no class or was I of a lower class?

I suddenly realized, no couple is perfect nor does the perfect word exist. Cause I’m from the hood where perfection doesn’t exist, because the blissfulness of ignorance taught us that no one is perfect. But you’d wonder of how many mistakes are hidden behind no one is perfect cause at the end of the day we all know what’s wrong and what’s right. Or maybe regrets make better history? Cause we sin and sing the gospel. Update Bible verses when we are broken. Think of church only on Sundays. Think of God only when convenient, so not convincing our love for the Lord.
But then who am I to judge? While I nap without a prayer, while others wrap themselves within Godly conversations before they nap.
Who am I to judge? While the heavens are never recruiting.
Who am I ?
If not the perfect sinner

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