The Man Who Tried to Be a Thug

The Man Who Tried to Be a Thug

I wore the hood, I played it mean

kept one eye sharp, the other lean

I walked like I could take a swing

but feared the weight that real fights bring

I talked in slang I’d heard on shows

rolled deep in dreams, not in my clothes

I flashed a grin I thought was tough

but most could tell it wasn’t rough

I tagged a wall, then ran like hell

the paint still wet, the story fell

I bragged about some fight I faked

laughed too loud when my hands shook, late

I smoked but hated how it stung

the taste, the burn, the black on tongue

I played a game I couldn’t win

’cause thugs don’t flinch when trouble grins

I wasn’t broke the way they are

not jailhouse deep or battle-scarred

my war was quiet, close and near—

a boy pretending not to fear

I wore the mask, it wore me down

I saw no king inside that crown

just someone lost, who’d tried too hard

to earn respect by playing hard

So bit by bit, I let it go

the fake salute, the borrowed show

I found a voice that wasn’t bluff

and learned that soft could still be tough

I’m not a thug, I never was

I chased the look without the cause

but once I dropped the need to prove,

I found a man who’d start to move