April 27, 2012
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He’s still got his mama,
But that’s not enough,
Cause she don’t ever wanna,
Help him when the going gets tough.

And his Pa,
Yeah, he’s been crying,
Ever since the day that he saw,
His starving little girl on the kitchen floor dying.

He calls his friends at school his brothers,
Cause he’s got none left at home,
They all went off to sell drugs like the others,
On the streets now they silently roam.

His teachers, they don’t like him,
They think there is no hope,
For a boy who solely excels in gym,
To ever do more in life than jump a worn-out rope.

The books, they are broken,
But they always manage to make him smile,
He remembers that his Grandpop once told him that his hope would be his token,
And good times would come even if it meant that he had to wait awhile.

He flips through the pages,
Almost all are ripped or missing,
These lengthy books are clearly for children of older ages,
But it’s all he’s got to work with, so such poor appearances he is dismissing.

These textbooks have nothing to do with sadness,
And never tell him what will happen if he sins,
They are only facts and a colorful atlas,
Reminding him that with learning he always wins.

So his Mama,
She may not guide him,
And his Pa,
He’s always grim,
His teachers,
They don’t believe in him,
So quietly he sings his favorite church hymn.

He’s not one to support religion,
Or to pray to someone else to improve his life,
But he will always make time to thank his creator,
For bringing him the belief through learning that he can end his strife.

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