WriteHUB

    I hear the streets are now built with cracks in them. That the little kids don't like school anymore, that their hearts are now knee-deep buried in them, they don't come out no more. I hear they're now broken branches of family trees. Hey Society, I hope you're happy now.    Around here, little kids have become ticking bombs waiting to explode, I know this because these streets was my bomb shelter. I found myself at the rim of these cracks once, waiting for my Dad to crawl back up to the surface but he never did. Drunk and distressed by society, He took a drive into the night once and never made it back. So I blamed society and fought my way through, the street was all I had so I let it change me.    And for so long, you could track my footstep into the homes of missing pants and crying Mothers, neck deep into the art of making wealth out of people's sorrow and broken bones. For so long...I fought to be me but where could I go to find my true self