This here is real.

There are no stories

about happy homes and whole hearts

where we come from.

No fancy cars.

We got no big houses but big dreams.

This is crack fiends at midnight,

babies crying, sleeping on wooden floors.

This is the corner of Troost.

On a pitch black Friday night

a queen sells her crown for

20 dollars and some rocks.

Young men selling souls for dime bags.

We don’t know peace here,

but we got bullets to leave your world in pieces,

got backpacks but can’t afford school supplies.

Everybody’s watching,

but we’re wasting time.

The blind leading the blind.

They gave us back our 40 acres,

but we can’t keep hope alive.

It’s time for change.

Time to save lives.