Those whom are distracted by their class,
Have never studied in the trenches where they’d be marked and masked.
Thrown into the back of a hidden field, with the littered trash bags.
I was raised with a disparity of how to react.
Had to handle situations I was thrown in, feral and abused, I took on an unwritten pact.

To construe all I had to do, compromise my prior status and class, to the hood I was not astute.
The game of fatal tests and drug laced sweat was for a time, what I would choose.
I had to be shown that a white male in certain hoods is not met with mass appeal.
I stood out during every time we made a dope deal.
I survived the syringe long enough to realize drugs degrade everything that’s real.
My last time was hell and fear of returning to jail sealed how I feel.

Vinegar to break down the crack, my burden overcasting everything and holding me back.
Crushing down roxycotin and ketamine bags, after close friends died I doubted I was coming back.
The...