young money

Hubris always has an opportunity cost...

        Goeth before the fall.
  It clangs ahead us all
In one or another uncareful way.
    Let it, instead, be for the truly tall:
  The ones whose ass daily chooses
        Sweat and bully-bruises, Dre,
Over West Coast dreams and house-of-cards class,
            Brass balls over Swarovskian glass,
      Cracked-book-on-IHOP-coffee cramming
Over what gleams and dinner cruises on the Bay.
  Such minds press and grind even when rejected
Or dejected by mind-doors slamming;
                You know this.
      And USC isn’t a pedigree you shoulda
Neglected with an ‘I sewed this up for you
            Six years ago, baby.’
      A seventy-million-dollar think-ahead
    Maybe ain’t hay you’d wanna lay in,
        Unless that’s the loudest say
Atop a pre-picked grave
      You’d be swift to have engraved in stone.
                I don’t know;
            I’m proud of her, too.
  But hubris always has an opportunity cost;
You can’t delete it once it’s known,
      Nor can you raise more than once who’s grown—
Maybe on those dim-lit Compton streets
  You could claw to uncover again,
            Even if in tatters,
        What shoulda never been sold out
    To begin with:
That so-tenacious gift that praised you
            Up and away from what mostly matters.

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