Heres another piece by me, definatly one of my best i'd say. Its about a couple things, classism, runaways, and brokenhomes, that sort of shit. Peep it and tell me what you think please.

So many kids born into riches take their lives for granted.
Given and born with things so many kids never get a chance at.
I'm one of the lucky, but i know what i deserve.
none of this should be mine I rather it be held out in reserve,
for the kids who struggle just to wake up and face reality,
all frightened and harden, far too aware of there own mortality.
All life ends, but do all lifes really have a start
or is it just one drawn out ending, until the last beat echos out from your heart.
Coming home to a drug using mother and an abusive father,
your lookin for love but neither of them could ever bother,
So you hide in the corner from her nose bleeds and his grim fists.
sneak into your room, considering death, would you even be missed?

Some live lives, always shrowded by pain
For them life is battle, for others its just game,
Worst of all, the lucky seem to pick on the poor,
It works in to my heart, and sickens me to the core.
He's battered inside, more just a mask of hardend skin
Hollow and empty he wants new start but who knows where to begin?

Shattered and broken the boys fled out of his home,
he's better of on the street, out in the world alone,
No one should be forced to endure a life like that,
gone from a victim of abuse to a lonely street rat,
Runnin with the wrong crowed, what morals will he adopt?
His sense of right and wrong melts as his consciouse rots.
and its wonder, how our streets seem to bleed crime and hate
The more we ignore the poor the more villans we create,
out of our own greed we breathe life into the criminally insane,
Ignoring there pain, the rich turn there heads as the poor cry out in vain
Its a shame, how can you just choose not to see the faults of society
as they star you in the face on a daily bases all you say is, "don't blame me"....

Some live lives, always shrowded by pain
For them life is battle, for others its just game,
Worst of all, the lucky seem to pick on the poor,
It works in to my heart, and sickens me to the core.
He's battered inside, more just a mask of hardend skin
Hollow and empty he wants new start but who knows where to begin?

can i please get some feedback on this piece?