I am from

I am from the top of the hill.

Where the ghetto boys & girls dig their heels deep into the red, white & blue.

“Ghetto girl” I hear them say under their breath.

As If the color of my skin or the curls & kinks in my hair didn’t already bless me with labels.  

Where I’m from we scream out street sign names like  we own them.

3rd Street, Sunnydale,  24th & Mission, Hunters point

Street names that dare not roll off the tongue of a privileged one.  

I am from the sweet smell of my mother’s sunshine.

From late night calls that whispered color blind disappointment into my ears.

I am from Venus’ heart where her beauty shined through my foggy nights

Kissing scars that laid deep into my wrists.

I am from Iatas’ excuse of a father,

His daggers pierced the sheer lace that covered my bare skin.

From my grandfather's saying “Stay with your own kind”

A saying I seem to question everyday of my life.

What is my “Own Kind?”

Where do we come from?

Knowledge is key professors tell me

Yet these textbooks can’t seem to answer me.

George Washington, John Adams, Benjamin Franklin

Can you answer me? Am I your kind?

Because where I’m from we are seen as the gum on the foot of an officer's shoe

Sprouting from the dirt as Ms.Angelou once said “Still I rise”

Rising above the words they spilled into your mind ghetto girl!

Where I’m from a new spirit twinkles in the night sky reminding me to pushing forward.

Rest in Peace my fallen stars who didn’t walk the red carpet stage.

Where that piece of paper determined a whole new meaning of life to us.

I am from a culture that intertwines with my religion making it hard to breathe

When you’re lost 12 feet deep in a pool of expectations.

I am from the top of the hill where I scream out street sign names as if I own them.

Letting people know

That where I am from flowers grow from the very dirt society spits on..

Where I’m from you can hear sirens shouting, cars pass by yelling out the stereotypes we face

“Ghetto girl!” They say .

Combs pull out my knots, but they leave my culture to continue to run passionately through me.

I am from a community

Tough like steel bars your windows hide behind.

So when you shout out “Ghetto Girl!”

Your words won’t break me, barely piercing my skin with your tongue of ignorance.

I am from the top of the hill.

Where the boys & girls  dig their heels deep into the red, white & blue.

From my mother's soothing words.

“I’m proud of you”