Broken Youth

It’s better things on the other side of the picket fence. They pick at us then pick us up and place us in places we could never imagine. Images of golden crowns reflect off of our eyes. If we just had a second to stop and realize. In awe of the trinkets they hand us. Dammit, look how they brand us. Born with a clean slate, we hand them our brush and they paint on our canvas. They paint beautiful pictures….but at our expense. They take us out of prison and put us in positions just so their dollars make sense. We make cents while they pay mortage and we pay rent. They rent us lots so they can make a lot and capitalize on their oppurtunity to make capital. They keep us in a square plot to make us follow the script. I known you’ve seen the scene before. But it replays like your favorite episode, press play on scene four. The build up to the build up and the conflict. It conflicts because they hold us up now but they used to call us convicts. Shackels, chains, and a whip if you tried to run away. Nowadays they give you a chain and tell you to take a stroll down the run way. If the pain doesn’t kill you bet the medicine will. Making a will by 21…guess you got so tired that the tires broke away from the wheel. You never thought to switch lanes because the fast lane had you thinking that the fame could numb the pain. But the pressure grows and the pipes bust. You saw the endgame, from school to prison you know how they pipe us. That microphone was supposed to be your escape, now they scapegoat you for all the problems. Problem child saved by the rhyme scheme. It’s just sad that you couldn’t see their scheme. Their evil was disguised in beautiful vices. Poverty vs. fame, a young kid just trying to find out what life is.

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