Im sitting next to the Truth and its not pretty.
Right next to me on the 2, high-speed railing into the City.
This Truth is cold and gritty, defeated and shitty, hustlin to make it like some borough gypsy
A Truth, soulless and empty, degrading its essence for mere dimes and pennies, pride willing, always hoping the next stop is humanity and empathy...but this train doesn't stop for pity.
The Truth is awakening me; poetry and song from all cornors of reality, from all degrees of 'needing', from a world so far from the one Im adept to seeing.
But Im sitting next to the Truth and its shamefully enticing; I cant look away, but its painful what Im seeing. I look into the eyes of a life trying to do the right thing, stuck in the dirt, grinding, on this train publicly seeking a better truth but never finding. The sight is paralyzing and I feel tears crying, heartfelt aches for this raw Truth staring back at me. I want to get off and flee this intense scene but nah, theres no escaping. The Truth sees through me, through the mayballine, and sees my soul shaking; my lips want to say theres hope, but whats the use in faking. We both know this world is cold and truth is, theres no help waiting.
We jerk to a halt and part, the Truth and I, the silence saying an unspoken goodbye. The Truth to find another hustle, another way, and me to continue to get by. But now i know the truth, I cant ever deny, and the grim of the City never lies...its cold in this concrete jungle, the Truth can testify.
No comments:
Post a Comment