I wrote this poem in late 1994 about the first time Tupac Shakur was shot.
On November 30
As the story says
Tupac Shakur was a little from being dead
The next day
He checked himself out the hospital
Against the doctor’s orders
And went to court
Accused of raping someone’s daughter
He was acquitted, except for one charge
And the payment for this was large
With his Black Panther family tree
All Tupac really wants
Is to be free
With his film and music careers
This self-proclaimed thug
Should have no fears
Tupac is both a victim and symbol of today’s violent climate
Is Tupac’s life imitating his art
Or is he just a young, Black male
Struggling to get through the dark?
Tupac’s music is a cry for help
Turned to a death ear
But how can people listen
If they do not hear?
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