Urban poetry

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My poetry derives from poverty, drugs guns, cold bodies and teary eyes. As a youngen my dreams got side tracked when my father got sent back. I wanted to be in the military, I would’ve 

A Harsh Life

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My teammates and I lived a harsh life, our bodies are riddle with bullet holes, have razor keloids and wounds from knives. They’re bad predicament reminders, scars of attempted murder, some tatted over, I left 

Raw

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I’ll give it to ya how ever you want it, how ever you need it like soul 2 soul, I can go hard like the finished process of manufacturing or I can let pain talk 

Perdon madre Mia #2

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I’m a seed from her flower, she raised me alone twelve years after when the reaper came in the form of cancer and took my father, luckily I was able to see him when I 

One last chance

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Just one last time to see them. That’s my wish. If y’all know someone that can make this happen, point me in the direction. I mourn deeply. Every once in a while I get in 

Top of my game

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I be in the hood soaking in life to stay on top of my game, I don’t cook or cut but I’m still on top of the game, I travel block to block and still 

It’s a man’s world

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It’s a man’s world. We grew up with dreams embedded in our souls. Us poverty stricken boys dreamt the same, build an empire by any means to end living in shame. We constructed the foundation, 

Living urban poetry

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We use to pick the abandoned car with the most windows as a wind breaker in the winter, we would be in there wishing…  We wasn’t wishing for a heater, although that would’ve been nice, 

Combat Ready

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Then– I was always ready for war, herb intoxicated, military vest , fatigues, nine Millie sig sauer or my four four Every time I stepped out my front door, I’m ready for blood shed like 

Heat

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Im influencing the youth, burying lies by revealing truth, I was at war with myself, I called a truce, I’m turning Toby’s back to kuntas, I’m replanting roots. I’m a 5 star analyst, giving sight 

My Bio

Albert Carrasco is not only a spoken word artist, but also a motivational speaker, using his words to uplift young people faced with the same difficult life choices as he was. Growing up in the Bronx, New York, Carrasco lost his father at age 12 and within four years he was arrested, shot twice and dealing drugs. He saw so many of his friends die off and he couldn’t stand the idea of his newborn son growing up into that life, so 12 years ago Carrasco turned his life around. He began to write poetry as a release, tapping into the harsh lyrical honesty that continues to permeate in his writings

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Albert carrasco
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