All my life I had to fight
A reference from a movie
But when you win the fight the loser always tries to shoot me
Momma taught me to do right
No need for a gunshot
To get away from the cold streets I developed a jumpshot
But the thing is this road traveled greatly
Taught myself how to shoot but without dribbling I traveled greatly
No indoor courts forced to practice in the cold
In another neighborhood my actions rather bold
All that practicing in the rain made my skills so good
Until they rolled up with intentions that were no good
They asked me who I was and why I was on their block
I tried to ignore but out their coat it was a glock
Here I am in mid jumpshot
The next thing I heard was one gunshot
I'm hit, shot in the back on the leg
Thinking I was dead
Thanking god for not being shot in the head
They thought I was dead too so they up and left
And I'm laying trying to breathe panicing and ******* breath
How was I suppose to ball with a hole in my leg
All I could think about was the day before
How coach told me I would start and how he wanted me to score
But a bullet wound forced me to sit out
Didn't want to play professional just wanted to get out

hey, not bad kid.
you been practicing that?
learning all the tricks,
figuring out the secrets,
putting in the hours,
working hard,
doing what you
live for?

I can tell,
and someday,
they'll put your name
up in the big flashing neon lights,
you'll be a superstar,
they'll all love you then,
they'll watch you intently,
gazes fixed and eyes widened.
then you can show them
all about your skill,
your technique,
more flawless than the thoughtless
fingers of a master guitarist
as they dance and flutter
over the fretboard.

because you--
you have ideas
that nobody else has ever thought.
you've got it down!
you can make it
float in the air like a leaf,
wiggle like a worm
wriggling in the mud,
swim like a slow-motion-astronaut
jumping on the moon,
quiver and flip over
like a struggling fish
on the deck of a boat,
spin like a top,
even sprint across the finish line
like a breathless runner.

but none of that,
kid,
is worth ****,
unless you can make it sing.
and i mean fly like a falcon,
effortlessly though the air,
soaring,
beautiful,
mesmerizing.

you have to cram it all,
every emotion, thought,
every piece of piece of this puzzle
that is existence,
and jam into one note,
one step,
one jumpshot,
one stroke of your magic paintbrush
only you can use,
and then,
maybe,
somebody will notice you.

so keep trying kid;
you never had a choice.