Stories of A Graffiti Mind

Sandy Feet

I am what you fear at night

A young black man with his future ahead of him

Yea that sounds to much like right

Or would you rather have you rather have me locked up for life?

Seen to much struggle, my memoirs title is strife

Born in the summer I bounce from issue to issue, you would think i was flubber, Bummer

I pride

myself in being indecisive, misunderstood since I was born, I figured my voice would be heard

If I became a writer.  Yet the police look at my individualism and label me a fighter.

For What?

Freedom of Speech, time out,…….

Let me clear my voice out like Screech

Do you see it or do I have to break it down to you and teach,

My lines were not meant for you to understand after two seconds, This place is a three sided land and I am Emelia Earhart, my thoughts are forever out of reach

Standing on a humble soapbox given to me by a Supreme Power, tell me please why my bank account has gone sour,

Not like those sour patches  that are sweet in the end.  I’m left like a Neanderthal with early tools.  Grey skies are my only assured friend, old friends reunited we sit and reminisce when we used to play in the sand……

V. E. ~*~

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