Where do thugs go?
Who do they run to? 
Where do they call home? 
Not a house that they go to, but a place where they feel belonged 
How do they cope with the scarcity of love? 

Thugs, not the kind that most women think they are attracted to; therefore, not the imposers
Not the kind who landed at the bottom of the hill, sliding from the top only to scrape off their rot 
Not the ones who were born with all the right people in their corners, but boxed them off while trying to fight to be someone that they are not 

Thugs, the ones who momma loves? Because he appreciates her worthiness, her works 
She's the only real love he ever had since birth 
Thugs; who can't really go places because trouble doubles 
It multiplies whenever he is with his guys 
Because they all know how it feel not to live under a roof 
Neither one of them have anything to lose 
His dudes are equal to himself cubed 
They rely on one another like proofs 
And they are radical from the roots 
Living in a negative atmosphere trying to multiply it by itself 
So that they can make it to where the grass is greener and the sun does shine 
The other side of the number line 
Where the gunfire and homicides are divided
And the dope is reduced 
All their lives they have been thinking that they are enduring the truth 
That they "cannot amount to nothing and cannot be put to use"

They are neck deep in the streets 
And the authorities is at their throats like a crew 
But nothing around them is cotton 
So when their fingers symbolizes a "V" they are only representing the place where they have to be 
And they are not weak, but sometimes they wishes that they can take off a week 

Black cats can't chase yarn
Mexicans don't have a specific day for casual dressing 
Asians don't get any waivers 
Cubans can't take less hours for a semester of schooling 
Haitians don't get vacations 

The **** life is given 
Difficult to make it
As it is to escape it 
It's hard to deal 
When all they know is reeling in deals 
To people who are saltier than Dill's 
While at the same time trying to act real... Kosher
Without a companion to share meals... How do they find closure?
Too busy being tyrannical 
Never learned how to be grammatical 
So **** just got "worser"
Interviewee for a job 
Or being suave to a child's mom
Besides their eyes,
Their oration is just exposure 
Not knowing their duration to exist on this surface 
Thugs need love 
It's hard to tell through his mean-mug 
But he's hurting

You black-breathed ones, you
coroners of taste. Ring me again
at 5 in the morning and you’ll know me
for worse. Paint-smeared, you stencilers,
you self-imposers imposing yourselves on
my breast, blubbering of goddesses and
jeweled necks—break yours straining
to have mine. Little chickens pecking the dirt
you’ve had morsels enough. Salarymen, you
daddy men, men of drink and belt: I am not fat,
or skinny, for you.

They made his dreams forbidden making him want it more. Being set on the back burner doing things behind the scenes working ******* the down low. He had a moment talking to his brother a moment to reflect the outcome of a series of events that occured over the years. His mind raced for answers the moment had passed him by all that he can do was ponder how things could've been done differently.
He didn't want to make it about him so he decided to mind his mouth, fade out of the picture. He stopped showing up. Let them win because he knew the conflict was not going to ever be resolved, so much favoritism. All he wanted was to learn and grow not feed egos clash with imposers that ruined his efforts to feed their starving machismo.

Everyone mad and angry
A month trapped in a room with people
No matter what they do they hold a grudge
Not sure how to make the wrong right
An apology that will not be accepted
Forgiveness for inner peace within
Mistakes were made a friendship lost
Broken trust trying to fix things
Uncomfortable awkward silence became the norm
Friendships ended unforgivable acts
Families divided imposers controlling minds
False narratives spread like fires used as a bias influence