In the hood, Dreams are illegal

You see in the hood, dreams are illegal
Now although we are told to dare to dream what is left to be said about my people?
That are constantly being told,

“You are Black, 

You know you can’t do that right” or 

“ain’t nobody got time for that” or
“you know damn well we don’t dream in the hood” 

Thanks to the mainstream media perpetuating that hood dreams aren’t dreams at all.
Thus causing ones dream to remain just that,
A dream with no action taken
Deferred with hope sucked from it,

and hastily drying up like a raisin in the sun.

As our minds remain cloudy, 

even through the torrential mental hailstorms of negativity from the outside world,

that seem to drown us as we scramble to seek shade to salvage what is left.
But what is left…

is so unrecognizable that the dream is set adrift and abandoned, 

leaving its potential to the imagination.

In the hood, dreams are illegal
A place where thinking negative is positive,

and thinking positive…makes you a sellout

Where success isn't defined with a suit or a tie,
But with athletic ability or a microphone
Because sports and music are so potent to the soul,

and its more addicting than crack is
And this high is just an illusion, 

just a confusion, 

but we are so blind by it…that we still go through it

So a ball bounces and a beat drops in monotony...

because Cash Rules Everything Around Me…

mindless while chasing a colorless rainbow in a grey sky,
That instead of a pot of gold at the end of it, 

there is a pot of nothingness that they mindlessly exchange for their dreams,

but in return they get..nothing.
Critical thinking is now an art best left to those whose dreams are left…best.

So in the hood, dreams are illegal
But tonight I…I… am… dreaming..
Of the land of the beautiful and the home of the brave
Where black kings and queens rule the Earth and,
Where the talented tenth has increased exponentially,

that being black is the new…black

Where racism is a thing of the past,
And you aren’t afraid to walk hpme at night.
And a woman doesn’t clutch her bag when they are in an elevator alone or when they walk past us
And more white picket fences encompass Black established homes…
And jobs aren’t obtained just so companies can meet a diversity quota

And dreams...Dreams..… flourish blossoms of tangible action
As the roots continue to influence the ravenous youth that seek its fruit
Just when I think life imitates art, and life can be like I imagined...
… I hear gunshots…ringing in the heat of the night
Followed by screams violently disrupting my dreams.

And I wake up in the hood…

where my neighborhood is at the bottom of the barrel.
Where I do not need to read the paper or watch the news to understand,

 that something bad had just happened

And I see… a brother killing another brother
Another man failing to reach the age of 21…
Another mother losing a son
Another ghetto youth living for nothing…and dying…for nothing


And As the ambulance leaves
And the siren stops..
And the crying fades away
And the crowd disperses.
There is nothing left but a flickering street light...and silence

Silence that sobers my skin...
Silence of a dream yet again stolen and set adrift
As the self-inflicted genocide continues
So I sit here…shook…shocked at another young youth slain and another one taken away just..because

And I realize that our youth has forgotten what it means to dream
That without dreams....nothing exists and our youth is confused...
I continue to hope that our dreams…

finally become a reality 

and that the hood can realize that dreams… are not…illegal.