by David LeMieux
Not a lot of people know that I grew up in "the hood." I did. And while I never became a famous rap artist, like many of my "bros," I have achieved some success of my own. I present to you, a new poem:
The Poem Not Written
No one believed that I'd written verse,
But today I sell a million books
Each time I vocalize, words so terse
And raged that I make grown men reverse
their heads and leave the espresso nooks;
They call me gansta', and I don't blame
Them frontin' against my powered voice,
Because it spouts racial and heated shame;
But I can't help from boasting fame
In my new jewels, I have no choice.
I grew up under priv'leged in
The slum where there are no slams
Or any time for poetry readin'.
Yet poems make my head start to spin,
And forget the boys who rap ill made jams.
I knew I needed this new found high
To break free of the ghetto fence.
Two roads diverged in Compton, and I-
I took the one less traveled by,
And this remix makes all the difference.
Peace out, my dogs.