Date: December 5th, 2021
Time: 5:05p.m.
Mission: Scouting expedition to find life outside
our homes, the Wastelands.
Crew: Me: Captain Q
Ánde: Co-Captain
Privates: 7
Captain's Log:
As I journey into the north
I cannot believe what my eyes are telling me
Buildings are clean as the sky,
polished like marble, and sparkle like arctic ice
The air is soft like a baby's heartbeat
and not thick with weed, liquor, and despair
When you breathe it in,
your spirit isn't spun on a wheel
sowing you to your vices
The space up here is smooth as crystals
and cool as a morning breeze
It's an understatement to say
the natives here taste luxury daily
As my crew and I journeyed down the highway
we saw ice dragon planes
landing in their frozen nests
on the runways
In the heart of the north
it's clean streets is something
i've only heard in fairytales before
The city lights on these frozen fortresses
looks like the cosmos showered supernovas
onto Earth
The people's belly's are full
but I doubt their wallets have ever
seen an EBT card before
Their laughs are so free and unburden,
no pain hiding behind it
nor sorrow in their jaw bones
Does anyone in this land of jewels and prosperity
knows what it's like to be in poverty,
tired of breathing
Up here, death doesn't loom in the air
constantly whispering anxiety in your ears,
making your eyes twitch and the hair on your neck
stand on its toes like needles
You don't see shadows of vultures
on the ground, only to look up and see
pigs in the ghetto birds
looking for corpses
lying around
You won't step on liquor bottles
growing out the sidewalk
and hear starving babies cry.
You don't see warm tears falling from
empty eyes waking up on concrete
seeing hell everyday
When we made camp for the night
the crew and I couldn't believe it.
I almost forgot what it sounded like
that I almost cried.
I never knew night could be so silent.
All we heard was and our heartbeats
We almost couldn't sleep because gunshots
raining like thunderstorms is the lullaby
that rocks us to sleep
Beef up here isn't nigga moments
served on pistol plates, but beef that needs
big momma's seasoning
The po-po up here don't lurk like phantoms
waiting around corners in the shadows
salivating through their fangs
The gas stations don't squeeze ya chest from
smellin' LOUD or mark gang territory
This land chilled by crystal castles
and iceberg bank accounts begs me to think,
"Down in SOC we live in the Amerikkkan nightmare
while up here, they're eyes wide open in
"The American Dream"
Our expedition has left me
with more questions than answers:
1.) Is this God's new garden?
2.) If we're really God's chosen people,
The Israelites, why is it we're caste out to
the wastelands like bastard children?
3.) Since life outside the wastelands
can be this sweet, why is life in our homeland
sour, bitter, and meek?
- QtheGreo
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So I spent Thanksgiving Break up in Keller, Tx way up in North Dallas, almost crossing into Ft.Worth and it's like a complete different world up their compared to South Dallas/South Oak Cliff(SOC). I made this poem to paint the picture for you to understand what I mean.
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ASÉ✊🏿.
