The Meaning of L(I)fe

I’m going to tell you something, a story of when I was just an adolescent

Not quite a child, nor a man, but the desire to be one was present

In my soul, I was thirsting, wanting to be accepted

But to the others I was pedestrian, no lexus, ripped shoes, rejected

 

I don’t get why value has to be based on what you can or can’t afford

I was used to white tees and jeans, not Christian Dior or Tom Ford

I couldn’t even pronounce Versace, designer clothes, I wasn’t able

To wear, because I had to put my money toward food on the kitchen table

 

But I knew I wanted to be something, I couldn’t live life with regret

I went, I dreamt, library computer, my only internet

I swear I googled everything, how to look like you’ve got money,

Mama said, “honey, just study, otherwise youre just running..

Toward a goal that isn’t happiness, internal skills are true baby,”

But why’d they laugh when I took the bus, from their Mercedes?

Why were the rich guys the ones who got the pretty ladies?
What do they got, why not me?

 

I need a life change

 

But being born is just a dicegame

One roll can leave you taking the bus, or cutting checks, Maserati in the fast lane

So I must’ve been a sinner, eating ramen every dinner

Peering out the barred windows, feeling colder than the winter

In a house that was too-small, too-cramped- too-old

Feeling sorry for myself… man

 

 

I used to resent it but now I just present it, because my life is about contentment,

It’s what you know and how you live

You gotta go

As the first born son I was the prodigal

My pain and my struggles were always so audible

But look: The product of illogical material is comical

What good is a silver watch when I’m laying in the hospital?

And no ones holding my hand, and it’s almost time for my curtain close

My closet at home is packed, no love in there, but I’ve got lots of clothes

I’ve got hundreds, maybe two, but now I’m not passing Go, filled with doubt

No, you cannot touch the one thing I couldn’t live without.

 

 

I remember they spit on me, and laughed at me, and joked about me

They told the girl I liked how whack my ripped back pack and shoes made me,

when I was broke

But the Angel spoke:

"You gotta choose baby, live a life of hate on the block, and carry it like cinderblocks

or maybe...

Let it go."

 

Because life is about contentment

Yeah, I used to resent it, but life is really just a dicegame

Money isn’t everything, but everything is possible

If you reframe your view of wealth, and seek the hand hold at the hospital.

This poem is about: 
Me
My family
My community
My country
Our world

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741