A day late but always great writing and reflection from our incarcerated Bay Area youth.In My Dark, Lonely Corner
Look deep in my eyes past the beautiful green
and tell me what the heck is it that you can see
No coward in me lived most of my life in these streets
and since a very young age,
I’ve been accustomed to the heat pull and down my jeans
not many people want it with me
‘cause I was raised among a tough breed
and when you speak to me, y
you’ll find no trace of child ‘hood memories
sick of the spirits that haunt me in the night when I sleep
and these rivals want me so bad that I keep a pistol
underneath my sheets
not that I’m scared of death
but I wouldn’t want my mama to grieve for me
still I would never live my life on my knees
I rather choose to die on my feet
seen many people fall down victim to this dirty concrete
now the hood is stained with blood nobody cries for a thug
and growing up in these playgrounds were those dirty fake
people that not so many rise above
started off hustle in dubs,
now were counting out the dope by the trunk
now look back into my life to my hard earned stripes
and I feel like the tears started boiling up onto my eyes as
I fade away in the night thinking where would I go when I
die?
some say I’m burning in the lake of eternal flames
but I’ve lived my life so foul
bet the devil going to chew and spit me out
I’m in an unpaved road trying to find my way back home
and I’m all alone cause I said fudge dots friends a long time
ago
now mama please forgive me for all the wrong I did
reminisce back in the days that I was a lost little kid
so young, so sweet, but most of all innocent
now all that’s gone 'cause this game gets so thick
pray to the Lord every night so He knows that I truly repent
but I wonder is this too much to forgive?
-El Michacano, Kastro, Santa Clara
Look deep in my eyes past the beautiful green
and tell me what the heck is it that you can see
No coward in me lived most of my life in these streets
and since a very young age,
I’ve been accustomed to the heat pull and down my jeans
not many people want it with me
‘cause I was raised among a tough breed
and when you speak to me, y
you’ll find no trace of child ‘hood memories
sick of the spirits that haunt me in the night when I sleep
and these rivals want me so bad that I keep a pistol
underneath my sheets
not that I’m scared of death
but I wouldn’t want my mama to grieve for me
still I would never live my life on my knees
I rather choose to die on my feet
seen many people fall down victim to this dirty concrete
now the hood is stained with blood nobody cries for a thug
and growing up in these playgrounds were those dirty fake
people that not so many rise above
started off hustle in dubs,
now were counting out the dope by the trunk
now look back into my life to my hard earned stripes
and I feel like the tears started boiling up onto my eyes as
I fade away in the night thinking where would I go when I
die?
some say I’m burning in the lake of eternal flames
but I’ve lived my life so foul
bet the devil going to chew and spit me out
I’m in an unpaved road trying to find my way back home
and I’m all alone cause I said fudge dots friends a long time
ago
now mama please forgive me for all the wrong I did
reminisce back in the days that I was a lost little kid
so young, so sweet, but most of all innocent
now all that’s gone 'cause this game gets so thick
pray to the Lord every night so He knows that I truly repent
but I wonder is this too much to forgive?
-El Michacano, Kastro, Santa Clara
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