Brother Luv

[i]Thuggish
      I regress from the start
 open my heart to a man that deserves recognition for his efforts
for his will to survive and provide; never mind it a hustle.
       what can be expected of a hustler
who am I to critique....

Two years and counting. Acknowledged something. built on an understanding that there is value in what the mass tosses; it's their losses; society can eat itself.
          Who humble comes to my beckon and lifts me up even for a few hours. Lets me break out. Let's me express myself without judgment. And gives himself.

    We went to the club and I got lost. But I never lost sight of him. Was molested and watched, from my perch; the security move in and remove that fool and I was like- really...
   He was unaware, but then I needed an out and he was there.
   It's the allegedly small, often unnoticed, things.
   He hooked me up out of his way to meet need. I cannot dog a man who makes a way. Not my brother. Not my lover. Not my friend.
  
      I made grown thugs cry. I seen the tears in their eyes. The desperation. Don't leave, they said.
  Only because I listened. I gave then something: respect. I delivered the best that I was capable of,  in their circumstances. And still I think of them and wonder the demons that entrap; make trapp. Like rap and beats and all that.
   Boys only men as expected; grow too fast but still a far reach from who they know they ought to be; because some things are innate.

  My mistake.
 I relate.
             I deliver nothing to retaliate. conscious of my thoughts. I learned to influence my environment and as I learned, I taught.
   He teaches me as surely as ministry is a two way street.
     My brother luv.