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There are
Streets that cry,
Bleed and sigh,
******* with you,
Til' you can't
Sleep at night...

Streets that you
Feel like can
Read your mind,
Streets that you
Just can't
Leave behind.

There are
Streets that cry,
Bleed and sigh,
Filled with the
People who just
Breathe and die,

There are
Streets that cry,
Bleed and sigh,
And streets that
You never want
To leave behind...
I was born and raised on the Houston Streets. I was born here, and I'll likely die here. They are my home, the places I roam, and I keep watch over them and I call them my own.
You don't know me.
I don't know you.

You pass by me,
Every day,
On the crowded streets.
You say hello; I say goodbye.

You serve me food,
Ring up my beer,
Tax my cigarettes.

I give you money,
And your life goes on.

We see each other often.
But you don't know me...
A short poem written by my fiancé back during the days of our time together.  I decided to post it here, since it seems to me that it still applies, to anyone and everyone who simply goes through the motions, living out our lives indifferently as we pass each other every day.
Kris Fireheart Dec 2019
I've felt the cold,
Of winter midnights.
The things you see,
Upon the streets.

I've lived through guns,
So many fistfights,
And all the things
They did to me...

It ain't the same,
Every morning...
Somebody new
Wakes up as me...

And I don't know,
Just where I'm going...
All I know,
Is that I'm free!

There are no chains!
Upon me!
There are no chains!
Upon me!

Well, I can see,
The stars now,
And I know what lies

Cause only glory
Waits for me there,
And all the things,
Of which I'm fond...

Another glass you
Raise to me!
For when I'm dead,
And when I'm gone...

But you remember
What I say,  now!
Cause we'll be friends
Long when we're gone...

And I can see it...
That gray day.
And I can smell it!
That horrible rain!
But I don't feel it...
There's no more pain.

And nothing,
Will ever be the same...
A bluesy freestyle I recorded  the other night.
Wake up every morning
Wondering if I
Should live or die,

Think about my friends
I know are waiting for me
In the sky,

Shotgun in my bed,
I take it out and
Then I Pump the slide,

Put it in my mouth
And give myself
Some time to wonder why,

Should I pull this trigger,
Or should I just go
Lay down and die?

Should I curl up in a ball,
Or should I let my
Feelings lie?

Reaching for my Xanax
'Cause that bottle is
Just all I've got,

Pop a couple just to
Make the voices stop
So I can rise.

Gotta find a reason
Just to get up
Off my lazy ***,

End up on the streets
Where you can find me
Flipping **** for cash.

Looking for some ****?
You need that hard?
You know I've got your back.

Need some company?
I've got this number,
And she'll call you back.

When the day is over,
Hit the bus and I
Just stumble back,

Pop a few more Xanax,
Smoke a blunt,
And then i hit the sack,

Open up my eyes,
And reach between my
Mattress once again,

Shotgun in my mouth,
And cradle it
Like it's my only friend.
This is my "hypothetical" life these days. Wake up, think about ending it, take 5 minutes to decide whether or not it's worth pulling the trigger,  hustle, come back, and do it all over again.  I hate myself more than anyone else in the world,  and even though I have friends who love me and support me,  I can never seem to love myself.  So I just go to sleep,  wake up,  and do it all over again.
neth jones Nov 2022
the city's moon                                            
       fixated in its peoples tics and behaviour
                    crass and mentally fractured
traction acts
the loony satellite makes sway for rude construction          
                                          ­        padding our ego psychology
nothing    simple    allowed
we are all a manic reference of each other

the city weather is steered                              
       by currents of gossip
withhold your info
               culture clutches
misguiding alliances
    treasure your details                                              
                      it is your only insurance

this city                                            
it's a view to thrill                                              
            ­ but it odors me til ill
****** privacy and get undressed
too much time here   harbouring thirst      
quibbling hurt feelings                          
         signals ;  Life Emitting Distress

lock up the night city stars                                 
                 mar-glaring bulbs of pity-me
                          staring about for vagrancy
i flip up my hood             
lucent pandery eyes span the communal routes   
search us out       merchandise and mood
i turn down an alleyway
and am confronted
                                          a vain and voyeuristic fan tail
varieties cocktail of sales and entertainment
ad lights send out sonar 'pings'
wing-ed ; fencing judgement
i wear pricy contacts to veil my retinas
and my hood is lined with aluminium

     i cough and concentrate on breath
commemorate each step undertaken
weaponize my walk
eyes low
my being is voided into guise

heading further from the city centre
i can straighten from my defensive pose
in amongst the dwellings              
             the urban effect dwindles
kindled   instead   by the dosey soup wash of streetlights
delights;   the holy crop of them
webbing outward    retching past our boundaries          
              shored back upon natures breath                      
(so i imagine)
neth jones Mar 2022
busy verbalizing my merchandise                                                      ­        
a display of teeth reefed behind my smile
                                                      becau­se merchandise is what i am after
                          and The Revels watch over me
                                and laughter drains down through sewer grates
i am watched over                                                             ­                             
my potential client walks away                                                                 
    but returns again with queries                                                          ­             
on this hot day                                                              ­                                   
a smell like burnt hair raises from the gutters                                            
and these are the streets that radiate                                                          ­  
on this hot day                    

an honest clash and not some some touchy bout
and here we are                                                              ­
the costly coil of pushing business together ;           
                                   a lively thrive
thrifty "*******"s and a dressing down       
circling the other and striking their buttons   
                   interlaced within is a genuine pressing
               toward each other goals  
this partnership                                                      ­                    
swiftly made                    
                                          has an extreme edge and chaotic balance          
the both of us must master or abandon our productivity             
shall we be served by this union
                                     or sever fighting ?

unfit                                                         ­            
  it swerves and suffers a pity                  
let's keep this one brief                                                     
we manage business
and scowl away with our wares
each of us feeling equally scammed
(we've made useful enemies at best)

i break out laughing all the same-how
and howl because i feel
that feeling that this could go on forever
and business has roots in all my moods

i crouch at the curb       
the curb is abrasive               
              i sit
i look at the dry heat radiating off the tarmac
the slight greasy lime taste of the air passing
the roof of my mouth
the electric wires running hum into the buildings
the storm drains at the edges of the roads
where laughter siphons down to the magma of Hades

it is waning off now                         
and i feel vague
i stand and i scan for more players
i spot a vivid orange one
one that i may barter their aura of vigour
traded for my sketchy wares
GQ James Sep 2021
Im tryna survive in these streets,
It's funny when you look around,
And realize all you got is yourself,
Nobody around to help,
Makes you think about your life,
My life doesn't feel worth living anymore,
It keeps getting worse not better.

I feel like leaving and not returning,
There's nothing anyone can say or do,
I can't deal wit all this,
Too much coming at me at once,
It's not slowing down,
It keeps coming that sh*t speeding up.

Y'all keep trying to have faith,
But how can you have faith at this point?
I have nothing to have faith in,
Can't tell someone something,
If you're not in their shoes,
Everyone's struggle isn't the same,
Y'all don't know what i go through,
Don't even what i suffer with mentally.

My life ain't your life,
Your pain isn't my pain,
What you go through and what i go through,
Ain't the same thing,
Something has to change,
If not i don't know what I'm going to do,
I'm at my breaking point.
SelinaSharday Sep 2021
Ok Ok so.. Lemme go..
I'm about to be pushed so.
Over the edge from Nice and Pretty.
Cute Woman Queendom, sitting quietly.
Gone  and push me.
Unquote just prose.
I'm coming with ink dropped worded sorrows of long awaited ****** blows.
Rock some sense with unpinned fellows. Leave ya crying Oh there she goes!'
I'm not feeling these fingered twisted rhyming lines. I need to break free of this kind.
Hit that like button utubers redundant pushin.
That constant cries style influencin.
Bossy commenting well im in my feelings.
Gonna speak my own mind. Nothing of nicety whines and rhyming fines.
I need to Grab and twist foolishness into mental jabs and knock out some bull* fist of
Minds mental blocks.
Brain washed dead locks.
Of what should be cute friends. Taking away my time on romantics.
Due to blows behind our backs fighting instead of igniting.
Social caves for love drought hungered non slaves.
Assisting in climatic mental dynamics.
To sooth dehydrated souls. In a long over spent Pandemic.
Wiping tears by phones lines, from pictures of systemic vlogged services.
Sick of the youtube beefs in the youtube streets.
Where everybody is against somebody.
Haters be gone!
Battle backs from controversies wrong.
Too many Vlogged accounts operates from inner hates.
Not in the club of rejoicing from online down falls.
Cause the wicked want to judge Advocates for the wounded  by spilling of pains.
Not understanding why a caged bird sangs.
My venting.
Is where I release for healing.
Haters would never seek to help others be free.
I can see why the angry delivery.
Why the rough words from ones mouth flow freely.
Why A vloggers delivery may not be for you but rocks for me.
But has its place in society.
So Let them be.
Stop, anxiety we can move in better differential views.
Keeping hate on back burner stoves, waiting on smoked signal cues.
Or there would eventually be an explosion in corruption.
And like a mass event would be just wasted consumption.
Don't Judge. You can no longer even tell your
striking and causing unneeded reactions. Obsessing.
Boom Boom speculations are not factualization..
Drop your theories of conspiracies.
If you think your standing rejoicing at others down falls,
Soon your own drama will be called.
I'ma sit back and stay paused stay clear in my empathy
and watch rise the cleansing of opinionated hands.
The truth for nonjudging fans. The Tv social media free lands.
A Creator's channels  rights to their own fans.
Clear of hateful bandits and tyrants!
Nuff time on spilled rants.
SelinaSharday rose s.a.m 2021 9-3
The Vloggs and the sobs, the bickering's. I've just been watching! Seems we should be excepting the ways of peaceful ****** boxing wrestling rings. The Defense to the offenses lets survive the rumblings.
Mark Wanless Aug 2021
******* wonder mind
walks the streets at midnight
with a spray can and brush

canvas the world
approval does not matter
they do they boo

hope meaningless
is is is that's all
a condition of existence

a consistent emptiness
to be filled with they
and the earth moves
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