Jungle-Ode to the fallen

CATEGORY

life

This is my ode to the fallen youth who live In the wilderness of the streets where violence is disguised & conformed as a moral code of honor and a rite of passage because we live in a jungle. With trigger happy fingers itching to belong. Young men we desire our children so remember this when you cock back the 9 milli and spray your AK’s into that apartment complex, that innocent souls are lost & forgotten by the blood on your hands and your willingness to belong. I wish that I could hug you, for all of the hugs that you didn’t get, and for all of the men and women in your life who told you when you were too young to comprehend that this is a cold dark world that we live in, a jungle and you cannot get lost in hugs and kisses, and that all of the things that you may need to validate you as a child were just too cliché for the inhabitants of this jungle to spare, I am so sorry. I wish that I could stop you before you raise your hand to the woman that bore your child and strike fear into her being and shake her foundation. Brother I wish that you would instead raise your fist to freedom and love, compassion and strength. How I ache for you because you are lost and child we desire to have you. I wish that I could have inspired you to love, to be honorable, instead of using the word b*tch replace that with woman, beauty, love. I wish so badly that someone taught you how to love. This is my ode to you fallen youth with your pants down to your knees and a belt to hold them in place while your world is caving in around you and the darkness from the barrel of the gun is intoxicating to your heart like a black plague you are lost in sickness and death at your own hands. Young man if the world only knew what you had to endure and the horrors that you had to see and how the streets of this jungle had to raise you because like the ground that you walk on your heart is full of concrete. Cement and tar pave your way to destruction. Your pain is old and the only way you see fit to chase away your dreams is to chase away your soberness with harmful chemicals that invade your body like an alien and chase away your sense into the wind. And if I could have rescued you from the toxic pull of this gray jungle then my love I would have saved you a millions times over. Because you are more than an ignorant fool, and you are more than baby mommas and poppin bottles, you are greater than pulling the trigger on another man who has no more right to the street corner than you do. You are more than extra thug number 43 in the newest film adaptation of "life in the ghetto mess of wherever." You are more than a rotting prison number or a statistic you are more than a mask. Your story has been written as a tragedy my love, but not yet finished. Peel the scars young man, sit upon your throne as a king, and escape the jungle of your past. This is my ode to the fallen youth.