Her Name Is Streets
Why the old cry when the young die?
And when the young die
A newborn opens their eyes for the first time
Crime is programmed
To the mind of the young boy who is searching for love and shelter
Streets, she’s always the quickest helper
What you need money, drugs, violence?
Stop being silent
I love you, young boy
Streets whispers, “I’ve made people rich
I’ve made people poor
I’m that love you can’t ignore
Also I have 3 best friends named
Prison, Overdose, and Death
I’m going to be here for you when no one’s left
I’m Streets, the woman who softly caresses your chest
I grow no flowers, I’m concrete
A hard downfall for whoever falls on me
In case you don’t know my name is Streets.”
The poets featured here are currently incarcerated, and many of them are in federal prisons far from home. Your feedback is a valuable source of motivation and connection to the outside community. Post your comments, feedback, and encouragement in the space below the poem. Messages will be passed on directly to the author. Comments may not appear immediately on the site, as our team processes them to mail to the poets.