by Taycha Wolfries
Today I stand before a man
That holds a gable in his hand
It's his choice of how
my life will be
But God created us equally
How can a man imperfect as I
Tell me that I am a lie?
To decide whether
I live or die
Does he know the life
Of a person who is poor?
Why I robbed that store?
Look behind close door
We have very little clothes
Sleep on hard wood floors
Five mouths to feed
That's why I did my deeds
To feed my seeds
He sits there
In his black chair
Filthy rich, he don't care
He's never been
Where I've been
Never needed to commit my sin
Over and Over
It plays in my head
Those words that was said
"Guilty" and that was the end
That was back then
Now I look back
At what I done
I did what I had to do
It was no fun
All day I look at walls
Long off white halls
Justice was serve
You might say
But I say they took
My life away
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