Where I Come From

I come from where carolers

don’t come to my door

and where graffiti

is on every wall of the store.

I come from broken sidewalks

and go to school

where people talk the talk.

I come from where salsa is hot

and where little homies rap

to find their spot.

I go home to doors that are locked

because bullets don’t have names,

you might get shot.

I come from, “I’m goin’ to whoop your tail

‘cause you’re my son and I don’t want you to fail.”

I come from where crossovers are tight

and shout out to Bros, man, that dude is nice.

I come from happy church days

where people love the Lord

and give him praise.

I come from so you think you can dance

in my skinny jean Levi pants.

Pause, but when’s my chance?

Mama says I’m creative,

but I’m always feelin’ tense.

By Jeremiah, 13