as I travel along dirt, gravel, and concrete roads I reminisce on the paths not taken,
has it forsaken my destiny; so I think back and begin to back track:
  I began on highway 187 headed for death before I took my 1st breath(step);
so I exited on bastard avenue, where I grew up with an absent dad;
wasn't mad, but the pain remained inside my bones.
Carried on until I was on my own;
started my odyssey on a street called independence place.
The people were plenty, but wasn't too friendly.
Had to split because those folks were making me feel sick, ended up on careless street.
My 1st night there I witnessed a young brother get stabbed,
grabbed my bags and departed to Stewart ave.
there I saw little girls tricking for cash;
every where I went things didn't make sense;
so I journeyed to martin Luther king blvd,
figured fast that there I would be “free at last”;
but in the dead of the night I woke from the sound of a shotgun blast;
I couldn't overstand why everywhere I went was considered a wasteland.
Thought I was on the right track,
but death is the only thing I seem to contact;
is it because of my neglected anger
and my suppressed feelings of always being looked at as a stranger in danger;
these mixed emotions have discombobulated, dazed, and confused my views.
How can we end this mental and physical abuse!
Couldn't figure it out so I headed to salvation road…