Where I’m From
I am from the places you so ignorantly avoid.
I am the face in the dark alleys you so quickly stroll past.
I am from the bars on the liquor store windows.
I am from a forgotten street corner in the ghetto.
I am from a school controlled by drugs.
I am from the graves of long lost friends.
I am from the homeless man, standing outside McDonalds, whom I gave 20 dollars.
I am from the goose bumps on the back of your neck.
I am from the cracked and uneven sidewalks.
I am from the shotgun wound on my left side.
I am from the rap songs, too explicit for the radio.
I am from the white Nikes I worked too hard for.
I am from the seemingly lifeless arm, bruised, hanging out of a dumpster.
I am from the colorful graffiti on the crumbling wall.
I am from the distant police sirens late at night.
I am from the far off gun claps in the dark.
I am from a sudden flash in an all too silent house.
I am from baggy shorts and un-scuffed sneakers.
I am from the skate ramp where James died.
I am from black oil and crumpled cars.
I am from a hoodie that hides my face.
I am from a house, broken and full of tears.
I am like the sparrow that flies alone.
I am the shadow in the dark.
I am the story nobody wants to hear.