“Rolling Hills of Green and a White Picket Fence Called the American Dream.”
The easiest thing in the world is to look over your fence
At your neighbors land and take inventory.
His grass is green as fuck, he’s got a new ride,
New tools in his garage,
his house is three stories.
So now you sitting there pissed off about your crummy ass job,
Your 12 inch TV with no Tivo, yo paper don’t stack as high.
And caught up in your bullshit problems you haven’t noticed your neighbor on the other side
Who Moved into New Orleans out of New York cause his wife died
when terrorists attacked the skies,
and took down the towers with a blast
Just to realize that his house was a beach and Katrina was the tide.
And now you sitting uncomfortably in yo seat complaining about what could be greener in yo life
Meanwhile this man don’t even have no grass.
Cause pain is making a decision on whether you want a million degree fire to melt yo ass
Or if jumping head first into pavement one thousand feet below
Is a better way to die.
And you’re only a short while removed from the end of your last relationship and all you can do
is sit around the office and mope or sit around your house and cry
then call Adrian on the phone and whine about this nigga who loved everybody but you.
And I guess now you’re feeling sad and I guess you must think that your grass is blue
Well I guess Kimberly Polk’s grass must be black.
Try telling your sob story to a mother who’s daughter stayed behind with her dad because they were going to weather out the storm this time.
Because sadness is thinking about the look on your daughter’s face watching the water in her house rise
While her dad scrambles to find the keys to the iron doors that were supposed to keep the danger on the outside.
And you just got passed aside
for partnership, or promotion of some kind
by some guy way less qualified but half your age.
So now your stuck with basic cable, same old job, same old wage
Same old boring house on the same old boring block same old credit card bills you don’t want to pay
Same old brownish green grass that sways the same old way.
I guess you’d rather sleep on the Astro Dome floor,
Where the grass outside must be red with anger
Longing for the someday
that your taxes you’ve been paying for X number of years can afford you a trailer upgrade
And some money to get you by cause your job, and car also got washed away
Cause anger is climbing out of a swamp just to find out while you were submerged everything else is buried to stay.
Pain is calling your mom
just to find out you were the insurance policy on a flying bomb.
Sadness is getting a call from your friend who’s 40,000 feet above you but drawing closer to the ground much too fast.
Anger is knowing that the people sending your son off to die in a foreign land,
Are trying to martyr your daughter who they let die when the world trade center went down.
Pain is the unrelenting sunshine on Convention Center blvd without a fan, without a cloud.
Sadness is spending 17 years in school, 20 years in the work force 22 years making plans
20 years turning plans into memories just to realize in a matter of hours you don’t have a house.
Anger is Al Qaeda making you the sacrificial lamb.
Pain is sharing air in an attic for four days with another man…
Pain is on the fifth day when the air finally runs out.
Anger is the smiling face of the commander in chief saying he’s doing all he can.
Anger is his mom expressing her doubt
That your situation is that bad.
Sadness is looking for remains of your loved ones in buildings turned to sand…
Sadness is the remains you come away without.
Pain is being executed on Danziger from Marshall Law
Sadness is the tears in his mother’s hands
Anger is the silence in her mouth.
So you don’t know what pain, sadness and anger are about
Until you’ve lived a life without grass
Smith, Gian. "Rolling Hills of Green and a White Picket Fence Called the American Dream." Gian Smith Official Website. Web. 09 May 2014. <http:// giansmith. com/ blogs/ rolling-hills- of-green-and- a-white-picket- fence-called- the-american- dream/>. Used by permission.