runaway

Sorry Momma

What is the chance of me dying?
I’m judged by my skin color while running to stay alive.
They shout while I hold up my hands but conclude my life with one shot.
My heart slows down while I dream of her.
As she acknowledged my craft, I ignored her suggestions.
My blood becomes a puddle while I reminisce on her smile.
Sorry Momma
You told me the streets brought trials
And now I’ve been exiled.
My hearts slowing down,
Where’s my help?
My chest feels heavy…
I hear you.
I’m sorry I didn’t listen
I left my mike, but get ready to strike.
Make this story into a song and never forget I’ll always belong.
Bye momma

                                                              -apoetswish

Sorry Momma

Poetry |