Taste of Long Beach -poem

Taste of Long Beach

is the rhythm of rap
a steady
harsh drumbeat to break
words in pieces.
bass so loud it deafens reality,
rumbling cars,
loves that beat
their wings against culture.

dances like
fighting, pop-locking,
crypt-walking,
throwin' up signs
of loyalty and hatred.
Justifications
long forgotten.

The feel of a glock
pointed,
pressed against
your
sweating
temple.
The pull of a trigger-
the cry of mistakes
-the expulsion of anger
-embrace of pain.

The streets have tasted blood.

The streets that curve into underground
rebuilt and torn down
like the culture
like each child as
they grow up.
cheek to cheek
between the covers, no heat
or tender hearts.

the taste of hard.
Closed doors.
Faces rubbed against pavement.
Callouses created
in the heart.

Faces, unflinching
and tears tattooed
on skin.
Gangstaz walk in strides,
their legs bent,
hand gripped to the belt,
head tilt, chest out,
fist clench and
lips pushed
out.
Walking to force others
back.
Chest puffed forward
ready to break walls.

Toughness idolized.
Excessive
attributes.
More guns, more booze,
more sluts, more hits,
more money, more kills,
more desensitization than
any other generation
has experienced.

Too hard to melt
tears to liquid jewels
across their face.
Pacific Sea
replacing that need
for release.

The Wind brushes through Her
peoples hair
calling
them back to the waters side.
The Ocean washes them into Her shores.
Couples lost in buzzed amorification.
Alcohol
part of blood
weed
layered into skin.
The salt is grinding in.
CRASH the ocean
waves are sweeping
us into moonlit waters and
out of the unforgiving sun.
the Wind moans
into the night
tying hair into knots
and untying tensions,
kissing cheeks
and beating back the day.
Night comes rolling in
with the sea,
tide breathing
in and out
-and with each breath
it pulls you under.

And they scream into the night
"Grow up!" "Don't cry!"
"Fuck her!" "Put out."
sex and drugs
and violence.
It makes you a man.
It makes her accomplished.
Power
still
unbalanced.
Not between the sexes,
between the bedsheets;
between the cultures;

Between their hearts,
compromising life
for accepted strength,
power,
stereotype.

And someone cries
"The war out there...started with the war in here."