On my block,
Education, goes further than school learning.
On my block,
It feels as though the world has forever stopped turning.
On my block,
Everyone you meet, always has a blunt in hand burning.
On my block,
There is no money, yet everyone is still yearning.
This is my writer’s block.
These streets have taught me all that I know.
How to write poetry,
How to slam,
How to free styling flow.
How to use music,
To create art,
Is a place some poets can’t go.
At times I can take off this mask,
And let the thug in me show.
On this paper,
The combinations of two blocks unite.
Two different people,
Two different minds,
With the same mentality write.
Trying to bring the darkness of what we do to a light.
Even though some want to argue on the words we recite.
I hold my pen as a weapon,
I chose to stay away from the heat.
My ink against this paper,
Reflects the drama on the street.
So if you ever decide,
To go for a poetic walk.
Go ahead and take a journey,
To my writers block.
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Submission Name: WRITERS BLOCK: VERSE 2
