Dear Houston

Dear Houston,

When I was 11 I wrote a list of things that I hated about you.

Growing up my dad told me that I could become anything I wanted.

I soon realized he wasn't being literal.

Not because of my skin color, disease, or money,

but because of you.

When I was 5 I wanted to be a singer.

At 8 I wanted to be in the NBA.

11 was when I went through my Broadway phase.

But I didn't live in the city of angels, the windy city, or the big apple.

I began to resent you, so I made that list.

Being stuck in my 2-block bubble

my mind was clouded by the negativity happening in my front lawn.

I was oblivious to the opportunities surrounding me;

all I needed to do was walk a little further.

When I got to truly see you for the first time

a wave of regret flooded my body.

I’ve witnessed your theatre district

I’ve seen the beauty of your downtown lights;

I’ve embraced the melting pot that you are.

I didn't give you enough credit;

you gave birth to Beyoncé

raised Jimmy Butler

and accepted me as one of your own.

I’ve spent my childhood blaming you for preventing my aspirations

while the paths to my ambitions were in front of me

waiting for me to clean my glasses.

You made me realize that I will get nowhere in life

if i expect the key to success to be handed to me.

In order to open that door

I will need to search for that key.

Just as you never held my hand in my journey,

I can't expect people to do so as I mature.

Thank you for shaping me into the man I am.