a Spoken Word piece I wrote to show the struggles of a disadvantaged childhood.
“Growing Pains”
By: Phillip Chbeeb
They start as children
Children playin cops and robbers
Extending their righteous arm, gun in hand
pretending to be “Batman & Robin” Banks from their backyard.
Cuz in the hood
their hooded heart is hardened from the age of 8.
So playgrounds are scrap yards of alienated adolescent fates.
Shards of broken glass…dreams shattered in streets…
feet bleedin with every step forward they take.
They leap up and earth speeds up towards em
till they land right where they were before.
forced to Groundhogs day their way to a coffin
and rest in peace out till there days stops repeating them self.
They wait
for the first flight out of bondage.
Whether sacrificing a red eye or a soul.
they know
that either their distant god finds them undeserving of rescue
or Pegasus is mysteriously out of red bull.
either way Their Doubtful
that school, work or Youtube success
is gonna salvage the wreckage of their *fractured* youth. So as we brood over the bloodshed.
Our Brood sheds blood.
Eyes stay blinded by flash floods.
kids stay Grindin for cash drugs.
Novocain to ease the same pain that left Cain unable to abstain his clothes for murderous gains. But didn’t Noah drain the disease that chained the devil’s Insurance policies within us?
cuz now Even if AIG acts prudential
Allstates stand still can’t insure success to sinners.
So now the existential existence of all teenage residents in the state of distress calls
for the genius behind the genesis.
But it tends to be that we tend to flee or start wars cause we feel Gheppeto left us incomplete
But that just means we’re being babies…
nothing more…
we try to run away or attack but fall flat and get pulled back by our umbilical chords.
So our last real resort lies inevitably between our offspring’s shattered dreams and the roads beneath…
there you’ll find *faith* the blue fairy of hope. She’s how a true warrior’s escapes fear and disowns doubt..
and how a child musters the strength to rupture regret with just the rapture of smiles…
but even if she cleans the streets we can’t go green. Cuz the perils of this poem will continue to litter our litter un till we heed the message delivered in these moments.
So go on… grow up.
Duration : 0:3:35
