I close my eyes
Hoping to release
The stress
Focusing on nothing more
Than my present
But my future keeps
Choking me
Trying to poke in
Blocking my airway
Filling me with past memories
I don’t want to breathe

First
I see me
Homeless
Sleeping on the wicker bench
I carved my name into
Dreaming of
The days when dollars
Were just chump change
And the bum on the street
Was just too lazy
For a job
Now wishing that the man walking by
Would just hand ma
A dime
A dollar
Some time

Second
I see me as my mother
Living paycheck to paycheck
Robbing Peter to pay Paul
Wishing I could take my children
Away from poverty
And it s mind control
Letting them know that
Welfare and food stamps
Do not have promising futures
Nor is anywhere in their names

Third
I am my father
Stained with jail tats
Looking into the eyes of
My only baby boy
Crying
Telling him
Do as I say not as I do
Be better than me
Hoping that he would listen
Seeing daddy for
Who he is
Deep down and not
A confused black man
Stuck between being
A baby daddy and a father

My eyes open
Staring into the mirror
I see what lies behind me
Wishing I could
See what God sees
Before me