This place 

By Mike Defendant

2-27-23

 

One thing I learned from living in town is you get back up when you get knocked down. You take those punches to head, you take a lot of pain but you’re still not dead. The blood stained ground, Black and blue face. You swear to god that you’ll leave this place. You’ll come back, they always do, this city has a way of doing that to you. 

 

This place is rough but you’ve been around. You can’t let anything bring you down. You know the rules, it never stops, mind your own business and don’t call the cops. Mental health here is the worst, some lucky man got away in a hearse. It took him on his last ride down my street. I dumped another 40 out down at my feet.  

 

We’re use to the loss down here in the trenches. We’re using the floss sewing up our own stitches. We’re used to the rubble, the grime, the dirt. We’re used to the pain we like it to hurt. We know rock bottom and we know it too well, but that builds character and stories you can tell. These streets get cold these streets stay mean. You probably can’t imagine the things that I’ve seen. 

 

Street pharmacies where the first hits free. Broken car windows and needles are debris. Shots in the distance remind us we’re here. It keeps us on edge, keeps us living in fear. We carry this with us everywhere that we go. We’ve got these scars that we can’t help but to show. We keep looking up and we walk on by. We stick to our guns and keep our heads held high.