The streets of Kansas City claim more lives and cause more pain than any serial killer ever could. They claim the lives of thousands of Black men each day. Most don’t realize it. People seem to recognize death as the only sign of life departed. Ignored are the living dead. The lives of little Black boys thinking a gun, stack of cash, and an inventory of drugs makes them a man.
Protecting a block against hallucinated enemies. Twisted fingers thrown up. Thizz face on deck. Baggy jeans, White T, Fresh fitted….Soooo Flyyyy
Run the streets all night. Sleep in the day. Up by noon. Roll a blunt. Puff Puff. Count yesterday’s earnings sayin,”This is the life AND life is good.” And i ask what life? Life for you is gone. It’s not your own. Governed by the laws of the hood. The imaginary brotherhood where you pledge allegiance by being down-4-tha-cause:
Fi-Blocc on MINE Cuuuzz / I fucks wit da Tre / Deuce-Sev
Take the oath: “On my mama, On my hood, Bust serves all day, Sm0ke til I feel good.” What – The – Fuck. I drop my head and cry. Salty tears sting my eyes, I’m asking God, “Why?” I’m just stuck. These are MY black men. MY black sons. MY son’s future.
I know Mama Africa is crying. This wasn’t her intent. She wanted black men to have pride for their village, for their tribe. Protect their people against invasion. Cherish their women. Be the providers. Now this…
Another One Bites The Dust.
My puppy-love sweetheart is gone.
My first love is in jail.
My little cousin, soon to follow suit…….either way.
R.I.P Reggie Tubbs