Ode to the PJ's

The PJ's were the projects,
Where the roaches didn't scatter, and being poor didn't matter.
Because we all were.
Poor smoking cigs, poor with 2 or more kids, poor and old,

Or poor with grown kids, that stayed with you, and their chaps did too.
But it didn't matter, we all fell under the same demographic, or stereotype rather,
Black, uneducated, and broke.
Most on welfare, some blowing smoke, just to get those paper food stamps and sell them. 
To buy the dope,
Or sniff it.
Snort it,
Shoot it,
We all had our vices, some people looted.
But I loved living there, it was like one big family,
Way back in the 90's,
The PJs still holds some of my fondest memories.
Jumping in leaf piles before school, although I was told not to.
Chipping my tooth on a raised tree root, in my new church shoes,
Going to the neighbors to borrow advil,
Then sucking off the coating and handing it to my mom,
Like she wouldn't know the deal.
LOL that is so gross, but the PJs were the bomb.
I learned how to stuff my shirt,
I was too young to wear bras,
I had only one brother and another on the way,
I thought my mom stomach was big, because she ate too much,
But he came in November on or before Thanksgiving Day,
And after that I caught her in the act,
And she said she was wrestling so I believed her...
But then came my little sister.
All in the PJs...
I learned to light cigs on the stove,
And looked forward to Super Saturdays,
Victory Christian Center fed all the project kids,
And kept us ALL day!
Then we moved, and years passed.
Gentrification buried the PJs
Under their privilege, under their cash.
They tried to erase you, and everything they thought you represented,
But they forgot that while you fertilized their soil, we were still standing.
You can tear down a building, but you can never destroy the body.
The body is His, always was and always is.

RIP Earle Village.