My Home, My Neighborhood

Home

The wind breathing
In your face as you look up at my

Home

You’d smell the freshly cut grass
From the neighbors’
You’d hear the birds
Chirping from the trees

But what you see
May not look too beautiful

You would see two broken windows
You would see that my home only has one railing
And you would see the paint chipping off

But that’s just on the outside
And it’s what’s in the inside that counts

My

Home

Is just one of the many houses
In my neighborhood

Some houses look
Like a haunted house
While others look like
The dream house

Now let’s talk about the actual neighborhood
The people
The neighbors
Boy are they something

With sailors mouths
With their racism

I’m not proud of them
I admit
But at this point
I’m used to it

Because as long as I’m at

Home
It shall be where I belong

This poem makes me...
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