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 ripple created each time I restrained my soul from reciprocating the truth I traded.
I toiled in the field with prostitues and junkies whom are depictions of what I’m assured to be fated.

I had to bend to the learning curve of being in trap houses around guns,
So difficult it was, to have enough nerve to stand up to my dependence for once.
To finally admit all the destruction done, I had damaged everyone by my disability to prioritize love.

Those dope boys showed me tentative trust but I was sometimes requested to do too much.
Testing the vials before they were sold, sitting in my big homies car being handed his Glock one night,
While he went around the block and cheated on his wife, I was told to keep out of sight.
I held that gun as the voice inside contemplated suicide, until I wept and cried.

This curse led to many holes left within my pride,
I admit, I have compromised my dignity numerous times just to get high.
I wonder how others felt to my reasoning why, how each act made me hate myself more inside.
I no longer associate with anyone easily,
Everything gets poured out - eventually.

After leaving the hood, I have dealt with feeling that I was destined for hell.
The perils of my life were immense when I fell,
My disease is always going to lend itself to me being in peril.
At least I have all my sins confessed, helping me repent to the God from which I'm sent.

I’m not bound by my worst, anymore,
I’ve become a curse destroyer.

© neconomic