The Reconstruction Of Our Male Tree Poem by wallace eaton

Hollow tips spit 16 rounds a clip, visually examining every blood dropp that drips, from another youth hit and sketched to a chalk line fit, mentally we've grown sick yes I'll be the first to admit, as I watch his body while each limb grows stiff. Carefully we try to mold our seeds into successful figures with a fighting chance, but the streets enhance, a whole different world at first glance, musical chair was not a dance, but survival and a chance taker we ain't. My son who bares the mark of my bad deeds, maybe bloodline inflicted with wrong, so at night I submit to God on my knees, cause greed has possibly touch my seed, so I spend time with him as a need, while with God I beg and plea. I have female cousins who passion for survival has kept most males focus, but sometimes we become criminally destructive, that black youth suction, mental jailhouse corruption, but through you we can allow reconstruction. I was a father-less youth, in fact it's 80% proof, but my sisters saw me though with love and attention, Oh! did I mention, that I have one sister who's distant, mentally uninterested in my family existent, in her presents B-MORE find ness 4 rent. Blood thirsty for a thought patterns, we must teach our men, successful life fins.Criminal resume should be redirected by loving again, become a parent and friend. My daughters who has understood me through addiction and upsets that I've sought though and regret, somehow makes it hard to forget, that even our females are products of existing pain, today no change! Our children are reflections of who we are and what we were, tomorrow is a possibility, yesterday is distant, but I somehow can't drink, the thought of each male smeared to vanish like black ink. Next: ' We have a strong female Family Tree'