Fruitvale Station

Who is my mother? Why doesn’t she hug me?
I did cheat. I did deal. I did beat.
A mutt I am this day.

Who was my father? He did hug me.
Life did cheat. What else will it deal? I’m beat.
We must’ve been one that day.

What is that train that hurled at me
a cheatful deal, that beat me
before I could muster “my bruh” that day?

Where was that black card? I hung it.
I cheated. No big deal. Deadbeat.
I murmur, “happy birthday?”

My life is a cheat sheet: ‘When do I need hugs’
Beats me. Beats my baby. Beats the po-lice.
Blackness mutters, “it’s a new year.”

fruitvale station_mehtacritic

B-/B

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