There was a girl who looked outside of her window every night.
She remembered how the streetlights shined so bright.
The dents in the roads reminded her of the lies.
The dents told her it was true that the life she came from was cruel and cold.
Swerving past every block and over every curb, these were the life struggles of the two streets, Stony Island and Cottage Grove.
School was just another place for the dead to sleep, alive in the flesh so the spirit was weak.
They would contemplate on who to rob in order to eat because mama was tired from all night standing on her feet.
The slang they used was the only language they knew how to speak.
Never talking to strangers but only to the ones they would ride and gangbang with because the fast life only had one lane in it.
Drugs and dope in the bags they would sell on the block was where they made the most deals.
Times were hard and dreams were lost and the only thing left to do was break bread and at night all you could hear was a grandmother’s cry begging the Lord to not let her children die.
But see these were normal days in the Chi.
Life was short so they knew when it was time to say goodbye.