In the slums is where I come from, or at least that's what they call it. When the nights are dark, not even a star is lit in the beautiful sky. How do I find my way, as they say, to get out of this world that's all so grey? Every time I walk the streets, I can only see is trash and broken glass. dead bodies all over the highway No mentor, no motivation, in the slums where I come, or at least that's what they call it. no way out, but I do know it's always a way in. See, we have to kill, we have to fight, no mama to hold us tight, no father to tell us goodnight. In the slums when the women and men carry guns. Kids are always crying, and the streets are full of the homeless. Drugs on every corner, when and how do I find my way out of this endless cycle? Tears rolling down my face as I realize this is fate, this is the world we live in. I am in a fight against what we call life in a world that's so cold. In the dark, where you should not roam with women and men out like wolves as if it's a full moon. Staying strong because I know I will make it out till the death of me, and if I don't make it out alive, I know I died trying.

Anyone ever thought. What's on the mind of a poet? Please introduce yourself and tell me things you like to do daily. Hobbies anything you would love to share is fine by me.