Sitting here at the BP on Grand.
Sitting here at the BP on Grand.
A place I’m too familiar with.
A place I can’t stand.
I hate the gas, I hate the smells,
I hate the people, I hate the prices of the gas.
I’m here every other week hating every bit of it.
I never go in, I just wait.
Life passes by.
My mistakes,
My fears.
I’ve shedded tears at this very location.
I could now.
I torture myself every other week because I have to.
What better place then
The BP on Grand.
Day and night.
This is my stop point.
At this point, I’ve watched the 70 bus pass three times both directions.
It’s not safe here, but if I cross the bridge it’s even worse.
I wait here and pray “please be safe.”
I can handle this.
I can handle this.
I can handle this.
I...
I should have been responsible.
I should have listened to my mama.
.
I should have been faithful.
I should’da, could’da, would’da but I didn’t.
“I” DIDNT.
No one else.
I always feared this, and fearing it somehow made it a reality.
I deserved this, but
My son doesn’t.