Ghetto Concrete Lines

The Acre of Broken Dreams (Ghetto Concrete Lines) By Majae Brown Jackson and Pulaski Broken acre of Dreams From which many weeds grew 3944 concrete lines From which we grew But we weren’t weeds You labeled it a ghetto concrete line We labeled it the broken acre of dreams Even if our soil was a pebble And our water whatever leaked And our sunlight the few beams that escaped between the trees leafs In this sidewalk crack we grew beautifully 3944 W Jackson Concrete line… of success Where weeds grew But roses, daylilies, and tulips did too From Nothing But this dirty cricked Line of concrete Did a garden of such beauty Grow so beautiful So if I’m Because I was planted and grown in concrete instead of fertile soil Yet I grew as or even more beautiful than those of fertile soil Let me be ghetto For I am a… Concrete flower With roots entrapped in ghetto cement But pedals encaptured in dreams, hopes, and ambitions With potential pollinating my air Urban concrete flower With delicate pedals Enduring Fighting the battle to grow Stuck between concrete blocks Threatened to be yanked by the roots Just because I decide to grow outside This hopeless Block Bugs of bad influence Constantly surround me With the intentions to make me wilt When all I desire is fresh air Instead of the heavy Pesticides of Society We inhale Where weeds grow and go with the season But I’ve endured Hot summers of gang violence Heat waves of teen pregnancy The drought of drugs Where the heat of stray bullets Yank the roots of Potential Because I was pollinated with change Success aspirations Pollinated with the desire To see this and the next generation of seeds Not to meet society’s expectations But to grow higher I was pollinated With determination To see the same beauty grown in me Implanted in the future generations But I stay rooted in the acre of broken dreams Worthless Being told Maybe the hope of beautiful flowers growing from concrete was unrealistic Maybe I lied to myself Trying to prove I’m above their words Like the Weeping Willow I cry the tears of frustration Cry the tears to heal the broken heart of the Westside Weeping the sorrows of Chiraq I can’t breathe For I am strangled by the roots of weeds Trying to take my water Trying to still my sunshine All the negativity slices my stem At a rapid rate in which I cannot heal myself fast enough I cry because I’m seen worthless by the ones who should value me the most Words cut deeper than swords And I wish yall would learn to wield your tongues Instead of thrashing and breaking my blooming spirit With mouths that act as guns I take the heat Yet I still rise At times, I wilt because weeds outnumber me Only one person stands by me My butterfly my nana The rest? await my failure As a groom awaits his bride at the alter They eagerly wait in the aisles For me to marry my defeat But I’ve never been submissive to such marital arrangements Value me As I continue to grow Urban Concrete flower Westside produce of Chicago Don’t take my water Don’t steal my sunshine All I ask is society don’t pick me And these weeds don’t kill me Jackson and Pulaski 3944 America Allow me to reintroduce myself I am the representation of the garden rooted in hopelessness, Fertilized with welfare, food stamps, and section 8 The representation of the forgotten and fallen flowers In the acre of broken dreams I am not the hopeless weed from the Westside of Chicago I am the ambitious tulip from the Westside of ChicaGROW I am the urban concrete flower That only a few have achieved And in the words of Tupac Shakur Long live the rose that grew from concrete