That Ghetto Inside Me

That ghetto inside me loves!
It is in my D.N.A.
Unexplained to remain that way.

From birth I was taught,
To not be offended.
Because I was different.
And will be continually judge,
By the color of my skin.
With lessons to learn early,
Never to allow myself time to defend.
What I could not change,
Where I lived to have defined...
By others to limit the use of my mind.
That attribute I contribute to my mother.

I would hear lies and stories told,
About me receiving everything I wanted.
With a doing giving to me,
Without it being earned.

I would hear these lies and stories told,
By those who did not know...
It was my mother that applied,
Strict discipline with chores to do.
Before and after I returned home.
Even as a child attending elementary school.
She was not one to care,
Who said what to me.
Since if I did disobey her,
I knew the punishment I would receive.

I was made to be responsible.
And held accountable for my deeds.
Did I like being the eldest born?
In my family to set this experience to exist?
No!
I was not asked to permit this.
It was a task I did not challenge.
And if I did my behind was whipped.
From a switch I picked growing on a bush,
To strip it of its leaves.
In those growing from a bud youthful days,
I learned to disguise any pain I felt inside.
With created alibis.
That worked to my advantage.

Oh how I hated living in the ghetto back then.
Pretending the pain I felt on my butt,
Had been caused by sitting around.
Doing nothing much but getting things,
Handed to me.
Leaving me spoiled.
Unaware of reality.

And as I grew to grow older.
Learning to take care of myself independently.
This I attribute to my mother.
Not my father.
Who said to others what 'he' did to do.
But not at anytime,
Had there been proof or evidence,
What was told to hear it said...
Delivered to my mind,
Obedience to remain ambitious.
Motivated with incentive to succeed.
To keep kept the truth and reality,
That if I wanted to have...
Anything done for me?
I had to earn to prove I deserved it!
Implanted in my D.N.A.
Useful to me and unseen.

And this as an adult,
With that ghetto still residing inside me.
I don't run to escape from challenges.
I don't know what that means to do.
I run towards them to face.
Making mistakes to admit.
But not on my butt do I stay to sit.
To believe I am not capable to pursue,
Whatever my mind tells me I deserve.
Without using my childhood,
As an excuse to get it done.
I was raised in a different way.

I may be a boy from the ghetto.
But as an grown adult man?
My mother taught me very early,
This she was determined I would become.
Regardless who said what.
Or misunderstood to not understand,
She wanted to raise that kind of man...
Who would not sit around,
Pretending on the outside to imitate one!

Thank you, Ma!
So grateful to you I am these days!