Born into nothing,
grew to have everything.
The illegal route
was the only way out,
nothing to be proud about.
I'm selling the same destruction
that resulted in my family's demise.
I love my older brother,
but I can see the craziness in his eyes.
Pops is barely alive,
buried in the guilt
of my mother's death.
Now he's just a shell of himself
a cloud of burned up potential
and weed smoke.
He always tries to kick knowledge
right before he makes a new
needle poke.
Met a beautiful black woman
her eyes bring me peace.
Told my brother I'm leaving
the drug game.
He said he wouldn't stop
until he's deceased.
Told my Italian connects I'm done,
but they don't believe in brothas
walking off into the sun.
They pat themselves on the back
for never calling me a "Nigga".
I wanna say goodbye to pops
one last time,
but my brother said he died.
He sent him to be with mama
where addicts get the highest high.
We scuffle as tears flow from our eyes.
A shot rang out, I hit the pavement.
All I hear is my girl's cries.
In a moment of disbelief
my brother commits suicide.
Now here I am paralyzed
with a wife and son.
I will always remind him
that life on Sugar Hill
ain't never been sweet.

a great story you told with references to family, nice one!

across 110th street
-xxx

they showed us phYsically, we could reach infinitY, but mentally, through the century, we lost our identitY
-Rakim

Great! Powerful!

Oh, I lived on Sugar Hill when I was a student at CCNY, and once more a few years later when I couldn't afford that crazy rent below 125th Street.

I heard those POPS all the time!

Really enjoyed the read!