Curse words have been shot my way
But I've always thought I'd make out just fine.
Just like any other kid.
People claim to need me,
Yet they are the ones who shoot the imaginary guns at me carelessly
I am not needed,
No, I am plotted somewhere  in the background.
Never coming to the foreground in any of the shooter's lives.
I'll be come famous one day
And then I will be holding the gun and aiming the words.
Curse words still ricochet in my lungs
Just come to remember that...
Hood is down,
Pants set low,
Shoes gripping  my ankles,
My fists cracked and ready to fight
Head is down,
Legs are bent,
Feet are grounded,
My fingers itching to meet bone
And through all of this, I will become famous