Konch Magazine - Boulevard by Devon Moyd

Devon Moyd



Someone said that it wasn’t hard,

Living down the street from the boulevard

Two miles down from the graveyard.

Across the street from the trap-yard.

Where those boys trap hard.

Like, 2 light-years away from your God;

My God!

Someone said it was nice there.


            See; someone lied,

Cause we residents duck and hide,

Have you ever seen someone die

Outside from where you reside?

When this n**ga pulled the trigger,

And his blood then hit the bodega,

And you witness the scarred stills on 8 year old faces?

Down the street from the boulevard, we play God, ruling with a tek.

Now I say they play God, cause they control life and death.

There on that block, they scream “Sex, Money, and Murder”

Cause that’s what’s promised,

Sex and money to those that would murder.

And while you dash pass the projects as bullets whiz

Wondering if it hit you, you pray to fly outta there till you read a google review claiming

It isn’t hard living down the street from the boulevard

2 miles down from the graveyard

Across the street from the trap-yard

Where those boys trap hard

2 light-years away from your God;

My God!

Location, location, location! Wipe your feet!


I saw the cars zoom as they went down the road

Windows rolled down, they stole his soul.

Neighbors ran inside our hot block as his body went cold.

We’re used o police sirens.

We’re used to people dying.

Shots shat from glocks are lullabies

But our faces turned cold during that drive-by.

Bro, who you impressing?

With that Smith and Wesson?

Step Back


And kill all for their transgressions.

It’s depressing that we’re digressing from the path paved for succession.

If you had a 9mm to your neck wondering if God is still protecting.

You visualize the graveyard and what its like to be dead, and

Watch where you’re stepping and know what they’re repping.

Ain’t no second guessing,

When they start G-checking,

Over here, it’s a gangster’s paradise; a thug’s heaven,

Better be married to a pastor or sleep with a weapon.

Close your eyes and hide,

Lock your doors when you start heading…


Two blocks down from the boulevard.

Two miles down from the graveyard.

Across the street from the trapyard.

Where them boys trap hard.

2 Lightyears away from your God,

My God!


            Jersey City teen takes two to the dome.

He was a father,

Who left a 5 year old daughter alone!

They said there’s a hood in every city, every state that you roam.

They call it hell down from the boulevard…

I called it home.


Devon Moyd is a hot new poet who frequently reads at the Nuyorican Poet’s Café’s poetry slam.