Incapable of hearing my peoples cry To wrap up in my own self failure. Do you not notice I do cry. I do breathe unclean air. Debris like tattered birds Streets full of cracks And smack heads look for smack. Clothes hang out my window. Trying to dry for work. Getting paid minimum wage. My fridge is too bare. My cabinets off the hinge And the rent was due a week ago. Sirens in the distance. A mother’s cry Her baby was playing in the street Rod just got out the pen. Hopscotch 1…2..3 Double dutchin to heaven. “hey man you gotta dolla” All I got is lent. But its what I call home. Its where I been Though its far from heaven. Some call it the bad side I call it my hood.