Beloved Bruised Orange
Beyond our cities university is OUR land.
Land spectators don’t come to see.
Media shows toxic negativity within our community, but not much of the millennial minorities that are trying to break free from the day to day struggles they meet.
We all started out on the right path, a lot of us became alumni and others dropped out.
Soon enough we all would see what the real world was about, and that our broken school system only taught us to take a test before the time ran out.
The homicides and attempted murders that reside on every side of our city are only justified to someone less witty.
The families of the dead that are scarred say that they have taken this hoodstar thing too far.
We’ve marked some of our fallen Martyrs, giving them praise for the loss of their life while staying true to the gang.
In hustling street smarts come to play when making a living.
Most educate themselves learning how to legally stack their wealth, others fail falling victim to jail.
When we all see reality for what it is we will grasp a better view to the other side, where we all will meet at the finish line.
We are hard workers making constant money moves, and where I come from if you snooze you lose.
Continuing our education, building our own businesses.
We want that house on the hill too, some of us know too well what an eviction is.
Many of us are breaking out of the cycle we were forced in because we understand what’s at stake.
We all have lost classmates, friends and kin that we’ll never get back again.
When someone in our community is labeled an animal or a criminal for surviving the best way they know or can, the cycle continues and most boys won’t turn into men.
We are not rotten, our reputation is bruised and I’d like to show another view.
So if you're in your own bubble on top of whatever hill hopefully this book will create a different feel.
If you get an outside look in, hopefully you’ll be willing to understand that for some of us, this life we live is a cycle we’re forced in.
* * *
Single Parent
Being a single parent with children in high school isn’t so easy.
This is the turning point where most teenagers found out life wasn’t so peachy.
Reality hits for most of us at a ripe age, like if I don’t go to work these bills won’t get paid.
I’m a single parent working three different shifts to make ends meet.
So Please don’t look down on me if my children are running the streets.
It’s not that home isn’t where I want to be, but the fact that no one else will do it for me. Three personalities, three different needs, emotional, physical and mental.
It’s my job to divide and provide.
Giving them not always what they want but always the necessity.
I give my guidance through my struggle, smile through my pain leaving myself enough personal time to cry in silence.
Overworking myself to balance out my wealth, putting aside my health.
It’s hard when it’s only you, but as a single parent it’s just what you have to do.
* * *
Chose Me
I didn’t want to be a part of the hood, it chose me, I lived by the code as I played the streets.
I already said fuck school, no more picking up pens now I buss tools.
The hood was my family, I had no father figure to look up to.
There was my big bro, the one I ran the streets and did dirt with.
He never really taught me right from wrong in the hood, just how to make a buck quick.
And that gun had me ready to show off, I bet the hood would go crazy when it’s beef and I let this gun off.
I’m the shooter, number one on the most wanted list.
Visions of being the only one with cuffs on my wrists, I refuse to go down as a snitch!
Before banging, the streets looked so appealing it was just a hangout spot.
Well at least that’s what I thought until my friend got popped.
Losing your close friends to beef leaves a stain on your heart. After all you live by the code you die by the code, it’s up to you to play it smart.
“You are what you eat” goes along with who you hang with. So I wasn’t surprised when they said I was gang affiliated.
Now I’m a target for the other side, the police & those other guys.
Take time to understand why things happen to learn your lesson.
Don’t get lost in your upset and get your life taken away by either the system or a smith and Wesson.
* * *
Broke
Broke is what they’ll call you.
You run out of money and it haunts you.
What this word does is break you down mentally.
Making you feel like without money you aren’t where you’re meant to be.
Don’t let someone else’s interpretation of “broke” stomp you.
You can have all you need and have no green.
Keeping in mind being broke is only a temporary thing.
Not like breaking something that you won’t be able to put it back together again.
But if your bills are paid it’s okay if you won’t be going out on the weekend.
Those who let money rule their world, end up the most empty inside with a drawer full of diamonds and pearls.
Because they thought material things were a necessity.
When their money was gone so was their feeling of being complete.
Don’t worry about someone else in a different lane or you’ll start to see the need to compete.
Remember money doesn’t grow on trees and it’s up to you to choose if it will be your priority.
* * *
Re-Entrification
We can rebuild this city from the inside out.
Let’s buy back the block, show them what our hood is really about.
Building our own empires, getting our names up.
If that means we have to change up and let our goals rearrange us, we must.
We can’t be pushed out or let ignorance become what we’re about, they expect us to give up without a doubt.
So it’s up to you, do you want to be a part of the new view?
To have something to pass down to a younger you.
I know I do, if I have it in me then you do too.
To walk into a business owned by your peers of the same race.
A hair salon where you walk in frowning and don’t leave until those fluffy light skin hands rearrange your lace.
How about a bakery? Where treats by Trice are baked and displayed faithfully.
Going to a restaurant where Balla cooks from her personal menu.
Chocolate faces that resemble you.
Orchestrated dance classes by Ken where you can join your child too.
Wearing designer clothes from Jhom’e & Cmenchi, this was meant to be.
Let’s stretch our bodies and our minds with yoga sessions from Courtney.
It’s been a tough road but with art we are reminded.
Those portraits by Rahm & Jaleel will leave you so inspired.
Showing us our roots, adding our beauty in each picture.
Wide nose big lips,
You know, the most common chocolate mixture.
I’m saying this because I want to be a voice that speaks this into existence.
We can build this city back up as long as you pay attention and listen to your intuition.
Meet the Poet
Chantel Frazier is an African American poet, born and raised in Syracuse, New York. After her high school graduation in 2013, she enrolled at Onondaga Community College. While attending, Chantel completed courses in English, public speaking, general psychology and American sign language. In 2014, she left college to join the workforce as a certified nurse’s aide. Growing up on Syracuse's south side, Chantel faced personal struggles as well as witnessing her peers' challenges. Although her peers had come from different backgrounds and circumstances, they were seen in the same light by many. She grew to understand the view regarding her community was covered by a veil that could only be lifted by someone willing to speak from an unbiased point of view. Discovering this in her early twenties, Chantel depicted the world around her gathering the personal stories of her peers, immediate family and her own into a poetic explanation of life during and after high school. Ms. Frazier sheds light on the societal misconceptions surrounding the teenage upbringing of African American students, washing away the idea of a cyclical bruised community never waking up to their calling of healing themselves…