Streets of Chicago

My neighborhood is like a jungle. The smell of blow while i'm walking off the train. I know a gang is near by.
Tasting the danger in my mouth. Taste so bitter it tightens my jaws like lemons. I can't stand it.
17steps down, twist the door open, the cool breeze slapping my face back into the reality of, in this world not everyone loves me.
This love mentally kicks me back into a ally and threatens to steal my dreams and snatch the truth out of my mouth.
No feelings. Because I'm only 14 i'm not allowed to physically stand on my tippy toes, reach for the clouds & pull down a dream or two. I can only mentally draw in my progress.
My hood said they saw nothing in me but God put the light in me, so for him I will shine brightly, unapologetically listening to his voice.
Dancing on bear cans & shingles, broken bones and needles.
I live in the hood, where some kids find their lives in empty fields and milk cartons.
And orphans find sanity in between notebook lines & wet ink.
I live in Chicago.