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Real Life
December 7, 2012
So by sixteen we move in packs
But we don’t strut and slide
We don’t talk in syncopated beat
We are known as white
We don’t walk on L.A. streets
We don’t paint our eyes
But like gangsters
We run deep
Grip hands and slap shoulders
Some sag pants
Others blend in
But that’s what we’re deliberate about
We don’t stick out, no
We look like you
We talk like you
We walk like you
But we’re not you
We’re inconspicuous
Still arrogant
And we call our boys in a sticky situation
But when we’re home
We cry to Father
© Morel D., Miami, FL
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