I come from a home with an overworking father and a go getting mother.

We live together and without a doubt love each other.
But we don’t always get along.

The trust isn’t there and I’m sure we’re all aware.

We don’t eat together, we don’t talk together
But are we a “Family”? Forever.

There are often loud fights that end in soft cries.
There are often long nights, those never end right.

I come from a place where the young die early,
Where you get shot up and can’t live to tell your story.

I come from a place where there are so many gangs, so many they
can’t be tamed.
Where your life depends on the three letters you claim.

Where do you come from?