Acute Ghettoitis

I am thinking… From the periphery of my vision, smoke trails , sinewy, curled and danced, unfocused, it created a mirror. I looked at myself, Masicka's They don't know my story played low and melodical on my computer. There's so much struggle in our art, be it music, writing, poetry, the creative mind is shaped and augmented by its experiences. The fight, among ourselves, within ourselves is real. I know I've come a far way from s taring out my window like Kelly Clarkson in that Breakaway hit. I learnt how to drown, tune out the noises, this place will never be known for anyone else but me. A hundred years from now, when more than half the generation that paralleled the stories i told are no more, i will still be here. This place shall be known by my name. This place has emotional relevance. My belief in the ghetto has be lumped, much like the dichotomy of my relationship with God. Sometimes i believe in God, another time, i question his existence, every theory against or for atheism exist by nature of a burden of proof or lack thereof,so too is my take on the reformation of the Ghetto. I am entertained sometimes by the elements of my environment and in another world, thought or experience, i cannot hide my honest indignation of Ghetto people. I assumed people will do bad things but i am also shocked when they do. I, like many of my community members keep a double standard available in my response to different situations, i too have done something egregiously wrong, like any product of my environment: i will do it or continue to do it, if i don't have to deal with the consequences. That in the Ghetto is not unusual. Once my clothes, behaviour and general appearance identified me as belonging. I brought myself a safety net, not at risk to anybody, people couldn't care less about you. You are overlooked in this bread, blood and circus. But real problems lead to unfortunate results. Acute Ghetto itis