There are two sides to every street.

A walkway for people to place their feet.

And walk forward to a steady beat.

There are two lines to every road.

An unspoken code.

That only matters to those who showed up.

There are two sides to every sidewalk.

Side talk.

About the cracks.

That’ll break your mother’s back.

And put you in shock.

There are fine lines not to be crossed.

Whether you’ve been bossed around.

Or it’s the way that you’ve lost yourself.

There are two sides to every argument.

Like the sidewalk.

Made of cement.

There’s the side that says.

“Freedom of Speech”

“Preach”

“Say what you need to say”

But when I bring up a point from my side.

The two lanes.

Becomes.

A one way.

There are lines that are broken.

Where dead people have spoken.

To get their points across.

To those people that are lost.

And they have tried.

Not to die.

For the sake of being on the right side.

There are two sides to every road.

An unspoken code.

That only matters to those who showed up.