West District
I am from a place where sweat stands at the door to greet you in the smothering heat.
Space cadets arrives at the stop sign; trying to gravitate an rock for a moon.
Each day when my eyes explode open, it's a track meet from my room to my little brother's, screaming at him that veins peek out of my head
"Whatever you do, don't do drugs.. I'm not going to always be around , so I'm telling you while I'm in your presence."
& my mother lectures us with information that I already know; but my little brother is too young to know the meaning.
My father let narcotics seduce his mind.
He's forgetful. But how do you forget that you have flesh & my mother works so hard trying to feed our empty stomachs when she can't feed her self.
It does something to my soul to see her starving, so im starving for success.
"Son whatever you do, never be the next best, be the BEST" & before I do anything, those words sing to me in my head, don't want to be a failure, don't want to be like my dad.
This poem is about:
My community