Fury

You sell your soul to make it.
Working long hours, for money, yet someone comes and
take it.

Get up early in the morning.
Thinking back and reminiscing,
And you're sitting and asking,
Yourself; how have I been surviving.

Sometimes there's no food to eat.
Yet your body's in pain, but there's always salt for the
feet.

The money's not enough.
The house not filled with love.

You never had a childhood.
Surrounded by guns and gangs.
Being a thug was the only outcome in the hood.
And as you're growing up, you moved higher up in ranks.

Your body's stained with a past, you so truly wish to forget.
You live in sorrow, for all the sins you've committed,
and now live in full regret.
Money buys respect but it also buys death.
That is your motto, but not entirely correct.

You see, young boys taking arms.
Young girls working in hair salons.
Society is infected with a disease they call the number.
And each day that passes, so many kids fall under.

Education is forsaken.
Many hearts are broken.
You're scared to give your daughter.
A new born baby brother,
Because you know better than anyone, he might end up a
gangster.
But that's not what you want; you want them to aim
higher.

You want them to leave the ghetto, but never forget where they come from.
Never become where they come from.
You pray to God for guidance, you don't want their hope to expire.
Like yours did, when you were swallowed in by fake respect, a loaded gun,
A bunch of money; thought you were having fun.
But this is the place where the government had placed you.
A place you know as the Cape Flats, where the strongest
are but a few.
Where they'll rob if you're new.
Where they'll break into your house even if they knew
your mother, your father, or even just you.
This is a place of alcohol, ganja, crystal meth, mandrax, and chasing the dragon.
Young boys running round with 36's and AK 47's
Where they robbed in so many place such as Shoprites, Pick & Pays even 7elevens.
Maybe it will all change once we go to heaven.
Church is not a hotel for good people.
It should be a hospital for the broken.
But even the church gets broken into when you're so influenced by the devil.
So I guess someday there'll be peace, or am I just...mistaken?

This poem is about: 
My community

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