stress

by elisa barranco
(tampa,florida,usa)

facing this addiction when i thought it was friction.
stress. sayin where's my mama , when shes making dhat dirty money
and days were never sunny, sirens like music to my ears
cause she was never here. praying every night
that we would never come to a fight cause we were never
right wishin we was always tight that first cut was
deep my first love dipped the
streets became my home
black bruised covered, tears falling,
blood still remains bleeding