Where I’m From…
I saw a TT… asking to write a poem about where we are from without telling where.
Where I’m from,
escapism is real. Robitussin the elixir of choice. T’s and Blues sold at the corner of genius and good food.
Granny’s house, the safe house but not the house for little girls with laughter. STOP that snickering (children should be seen and not heard).
Where what you see here, what you say here, what you hear here, let it stay here when you leave here is still practiced today.
Where the influx of the governments drugs for arms left children failed and without parents and babies having babies.
Where all were hungry, with mouths to feed and desperate.
Where I’m from,
hope is hour to hour not paycheck to paycheck. What paycheck? To buy what? Dilapidated homes by owners in the suburbs. They don’t have to live there. Food deserts. No insurance, no driving… good jobs be in the burbs.
Where I’m from,
the homophobia runs as rampant as the rumors of a holy spirit, flowing freely from the mouths of the judgmental religious folk.
Where vacuum cleaners and a working washer and dryer is a luxury.
Where I’m from,
you pull yourself up by your bootstraps, lest you are lazy.
Where I’m from, you share shoes.
Where I’m from,
you exist and die within a hundred-mile radius of where you are born, having never lived.
Guess where I’m from?
