Confessions of A Cholo

A poem about my life in high school.

Based on true events.

cho·lo [ chṓlō ] gangster: a Mexican American gangster or thug

I stand 5'8" and wear nike cortez shoes,

I have no worries and I do what I choose.

My past is dark and I hold anger inside,

I live on a block where many have died.

Theres red and blue but we have the same roots,

Killing one another everytime one shoots.

"rest in peace little homie", said the sad teen,

emotionless at the grave like it's a routine.

They take one of ours we take two of their's,

We all found a seat in the truck like musical chairs.

I had no clue exactly what i was doing here,

I just wanted to fit in not make people disappear.

The driver pulled over and turned off the lights,

The guy next to me jumped out I expected a fight.

He tied a bandanna over his face and reached for his waist,

I heard loud bangs and saw his hand immerse flames.

"POP POP POP POP POP", five shots fired,

My homies in the truck watched and admired.

The teens that were shot at ran scared,

My mind raced thinking of jail I'm not prepared.

My father thinks i'm playing games at my friends,

But i may have just witnessed a murder instead.

I'm only fifteen and I'm out until 2am,

My concious is guilty i feel condemned.

I drink and smoke on a daily basis,

I can do a home invasion and escape traceless.

There's weed in my dresser,

And a gun under my pillows attached to a supressor.

During the day I go to school just like every other kid,

At night they don't know about these crimes that I commit.