Three less than eighteen, I

intervened between

the keen and the sly,

deceiving lies of a guy

who was supposed to

wrap me in his warm embrace,

said that destiny joined us in fate.

Unfortunately, he left us

high and dry. No heads up.

No text goodbye.

Just me and my occupied womb,

all alone in this cold room.

270 days I sang a tune of love,

hoped one day soon, you’d return.

Now, I was two less than eighteen,

spent the last eight months nursing

my wee human being.

Single, solo, uno, just me,

sixteen, trying to raise a baby,

alone and stranded.

How could you leave your first-born child


I was just a little girl,

caught up in a messed up world.

I loved you with no protection.

I ended up here with no protection.

Ended here with the misconception

that your love and affection

was always and forever.

You loved what was between my legs,

filled my head,

mislead me to think

“You loved me.”

By Shanekra



The Body's True Words


If my body could talk,

my hands would recall

how many times

they balled up with anger.

My feet would remember

every step I shouldn’t have taken.

My mouth would tell you

the unspoken words

that I needed to say.

My ears would play back

all the lies and secrets.

My brain would let you know

my REAL thoughts.

My heart would pour out

all the anger and pain

that’s behind my fake smiles.

The old pain still tries to haunt me.

I am scared to let my emotions out

‘cause my soul will cry out

in the silence.

I try to control my heart

that strains to be released.

I pray that I will find my way.

By Harrison, 8th grade


Voice to the Voiceless


I am used for comfort
Held for tears
When you are afraid
I help with fears
You share me with friends
You toss me around
When you are asleep
I fall to the ground
I have no feelings
So I can just take it
Have no fears
I am only
Your blanket.

By Patrick 


I Am 


I am from a broken family

Where love is found, but always wanting more

I am from an ill mother diagnosed and living away from home

Where dad has to maintain but never acts when it comes to my needs

Yearning for something that is not always there

I am from a family where my siblings are also my mom and dad, my providers

When I once thought I would never make it far in life knowing I had much potential

I am from a place where I get love but it never feels enough

Coming from depression, having my ups and down

Made from my own empty feelings of inside numbing me from reoccurring thoughts

With only myself to blame

I am from a place where music became my salvation, my best friend

Headphones always around my neck,

Sounding like a beautiful goddess, haunting, peaceful, and loud full of screams

Sending chills down my body being my tourniquet

I am from where I’ve been down,

Lower than the deepest oceans to where I learned to pick myself up and keep pushing

I am from where my past made me who I am

My bumps and tumbles shaped me to be the real me

Though not many people know me, I always know who I am

From my past and future, I will stand and take pride of the person I am today

For without my challenges in life, I would not be the same strong person.

I am,


By Erick, age 17 


I Am From 


I am from the streets of Sin City where a lot of broke gamblers share the same pity.

But somehow keep looking forward to another day.

From the bright lights of the strip to the blazing hot days that put you in such a daze.

Yes, this is a place where you can shine, and “Be who you wanna be.”

I somehow ended up here where there is so much fear.

But sometimes I just don’t care, until I hear that single gunshot in the air.

Then I am reminded that I am not where I once was, but now in “Killa City.”

I live in a place where I can’t call home because it is not where I come from.

The grey sidewalks are signed R.I.P. in the thickest shade of red.

Waiting for the next young body to drop. Suddenly.

I came from a place that naturally made me happy,

Where no dream was considered too big,

Where you could do things on impulse.

Where love is searching for you.

I am confined to the dangerous streets, constantly hearing that same old

Damn ghetto upbeat. The police beating at my back door.

Where trouble is trying to swallow you whole.

Where the pill bottles just pop open for you. I can’t deal.

Where there is a silver bullet with your name on it.

You most definitely gotta stay still.

Where depression just becomes regression. Then

Sucks further into a deeper oppression.

I reside in a place that is not me, here I do not shine my brightest shade of PINK

But somehow I do not stink, or the evil stink.

That is just glued to the black concrete.

I come from a place that is screaming come back. But I can no longer go back.

“Killa City” is not me nor does it define me.

There is no point in running. I just must embrace me,

Before I get chased by my negativity.

It is all that lives with me! It better not be my legacy …

By Edna, age 17