When will it be my time,
to tell them my story?
When will they see my rhyme,
makes sense to my gore.
How can they judge me now, here on the street,
They make assumptions about my life.
I wish they could just read my mind,
Explanations are easier that way, sometimes
words just don’t come out right.
I could write them my response
can they read my writing?
Call me crazy, but I know
they just won’t get it now.
Who killed this body,
The gun shot through the leg,
Broken shoulder and ribs, blood on
The cold face, who killed me?
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