These streets that we roam
Are the wilderness we call home
I’ve got blood on my shirt
But this blood ain’t mine
I thank God
I guess it wasn’t my time
I’ve got four mouths to feed
Fuelled and driven by need
Poverty is the chain from which we can never be freed
So I stay locked and loaded with a weapon better known as greed
And I’m blessed to find out that I can still breathe
Because…
I’ve got blood on my shirt
But this blood ain’t mine
The animosity clock is ticking
And I’m running out of time.
Bang…
Bang!
The animosity of gang banging
Poverty a mother that gave birth to drug slanging
A suicidal community
Drugs are the rope that’s hanging
But for me, the last bullet in his gun
Ended my time
Now I’ve got blood on my shirt
But this time the blood is…
Mine.
© Ntando Mazibuko -TRIBAL_AFRXCA
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Grade 12
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