A lot of us gazed upon the stars
From behind ice cold iron bars
False dreams of being street czars,
Smoking cigars in fancy cars,
Were charred by reality
When we were scarred by mortality...
And some infraction of legality.
Our street vitality
Came to the blunt conclusion of inevitable mortality,
Embodied now in this modality,
Embracing foreign formalities,
Alien and apt abnormalities,
And though we've all commonly been Caressed by oppressive distress,
We're granted the opportunity
The rules that reign our domain
Were new to me,
I would've vowed "6 Downs" were only ruining me,
And 6:15 wake-ups?
Shit, I want immunity,
Unless its cool for zombies to roam this community.
And i remember the day they asked me to run a "session",
What the fuck were they thinking?
I'll run it on neurotic progression
Of this lyrical obsession,
Forget your indiscretion,
I'll leave a head spinning impression
Have you second-guessing the oppression of this "lesson",
And embedded with my confessions,
Lit up transgressions,
No order or succession,
Personal expression is not my profession,
If you want meaning out of this,
Good luck I'll need a c-section,
See, its all words strung together only identifiable by the person who wrote 'em,
Good, cuz i have one for you.
Have you ever seen a person with a soul glimmering gold
Who strolled the wrong road?
A person who stowed such a load of mold
That he couldn't unfold,
And the end result was to implode?
Well I've met a lot of them.
In fact this room is full of them.
But we're not outcasts unless we place that label on our skin,
There's too many good intentions fighting to win,
But its almost like we have this evil twin,
This Mr. Hyde within,
That's grown akin to the tale spin
And sanctimonious grin of sin,
It's actually a good thing the shell is thin,
And since we all share this downfall,
It doesn't matter what shade our skin... we're kin.
Our tears run from eyes in the same hue.
We pour hurt freely here,
Wbout loneliness, depression, demise,
How we've despised
Chastised our own mothers,
And disguised ourselves from our brothers
While we surmised covers to push out our lovers
We've all been beat down,
On another's shoulder,
The isolation was an ice storm that grew colder,
And though this gets harder daily,
We grow bolder,
And in order to be a general - first you gotta be a soldier.
I commend all men who ascend to the end,
Whose worlds of pretend
Transcended through the bends,
And unexpected turns,
They now walk head held high,
Flaunting respect they've learned and earned.
The ones who make are examples,
That we don't have to die.
Life is something we simply have to choose,
And this is our symbolic muse,
They're like mental tattoos
We should choose to infuse,
And never get it confused,
It would be an honor to walk in those shoes.
The journey of a million tears,
Starts with that first lump in your throat.
It's only a speed bump.
You can get over it.
Full disclosure: Most of you will not fully understand this poem. Rehab / Treatment Centers / "Programs" are a very unique place. The things that take place inside the walls of a rehab, coupled with the melting pot of cultures and people inside, are an environment that cannot be replicated elsewhere. It's a step up from jail or prison and as much as it's a place that saves lives, it's a tough reality to face when you're actually in one. Especially at the beginning, looking at the fact that you are a couple days into where you're going to be for 12-18 months. Anyway, this poem touches on some of the 'punishment' (corrective actions for unacceptable behavior and breaking of the rules) delivered in treatment programs, some of the parity, some of the people and the day-to-day life. There is definitely some sentimental value here and some of the things that happen in rehab are unique only to than environment - some of that is also reflected in this poem.