hustle.

To those that understand the term. The noun. The verb. The emotion. The thoughts. The places.

After the long day I slumped to the mattress and I thought “all I need”…

Sunday hustle is no different ghetto gospel. Daily struggle tears you away from your kin where time is money and they can’t afford it. “All I need” Is someone to share the spoils with. Picture me in a beach chair champagne on ice.

Hustle to me is nothing to brag about. Arguing over who is poorer than the other (tsk) Poverty; I know its sights and its sounds. Its colour… is ugly. It ‘tastes’ like rust. It’s the murk of rivers of sewerage, shit and used condoms. Pleasurable sounds of innocence in children’s laughter marks the day as domestic violence and crime calls in the night and its music through and through

All I need is some space. Unfortunately this doesn’t sit well with the ghetto. Pride; a poor mans defense. Am proud of where am from but there are better days and it’s a choice. Resentment builds in you with exposure to the realities of inequalities, limited opportunities, possibilities and choices; but who is responsible for your predicament? Could it be ‘Our father’ in heaven’s oversight or ‘Our father’ on earth’s laziness?

Escape is the only thing on your mind from then on. how much money is enough to obliterate your childhood memories? i asked myself that when i realized its what i was trying to do. cant run away from yourself. when i shut my eyes, it comes to me when it rains the vivid picture; my block. i want to go back only as a visitor.

i play the hand am dealt.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s