The streets are consumed by addiction, fiends, and dealers.
They all have one thing in common.
The veteranos from my block took lives and introduced them to death.
Harsh to their loved ones,
Destruction to their enemies.
The hood is full of hooligans ready to act on the first chance to proove their loyalty.
Not like back in the days,
When the cholos held their familia down with respect and honor.
White fence, hazard, primera flats, Temple, echo park, and the list goes on.
Broken 40 ozs and bullets to the sky,
Bullets going through flesh and bullets through houses.
Graffiti on territory to provoke another attack.
This is where I grew up.
Where the people identify with drugs, alcohol, sex, violence, and gambling.
Hood propaganda in elementary schools versus tio sam recruiting me to join the war.
Which war should I choose to join?
War for respect or war for greed?
We werent given a chance growing up in the hood because life is threatened daily by brothers and sisters.
I wasen't supposed to make it out.
Fact is if I never left the city of angels, I would have been resting with angels.
The streets are full of blood I didnt spill,
So why do you look upon me with superiority?
You try making it out of a chaotic neighborhood alive with out money and resource.
The only way out is to sell out, death, or a miracle.
And you are reading about the life of a miracle.
I made it out the free prison
And escaped my cell!
Wait am I?
Because now that I am out of the hood I face a new war.
How will I ever attain peace when death is in constantly attacking me?
Only God knows.
I wasen't supposed to make it out,
So it is a culture shock to the rich that speak to me.
+the anonymous poet+