Spring 2016

 

My hands that let me express myself.

Allowing me to flow my emotions onto paper without complaining.

 

My hands that comfort others,

When they need it, allowing me to put my

Warm, smooth palms on their back, giving them a caring hug.

 

My hands that assist my family.

Giving them whatever they need as soon as I can get it.

My hands: the best part of me.

 

 

 

Fall 2016

We Are the Difference

Group Poem: Briceson, Keyandre, Kaitlyn

 

We don’t turn on each other

Here you can be anybody

Our community watches us succeed

Watching

Our community watches us be happy

Where I’m From

 

I am from the sound of my grandmother shouting,

Telling me to close the door, my mother

Who makes the odd noise from her nose

The tv that mimics the sound of gunshots

And my brother trying to speak

 

I am from the sight of my mom working,

Kindly asking for help.

My brother who is pushing every button on the controller.

My granny walking in ready for meals.

The sight of different places.

 

I am from the smell of the pea soup

Made from my granny, my room with the

strong smell of febreeze that puts you in a good mood.

 

I am from the feeling of safety when alone

The feeling of happiness when congratulated

Love when around my family.

 

I am from the taste of the sweet, crunchy apple

The taste of the perfectly seasoned food

Made for me. The cool taste of ice cream

That melts right in your mouth. The taste of

The food I’m able to eat.

Watching

Our community watches us grow

Watching

Someone’s always watching

The police are always watching

They’re watching us “fail”

They’re watching us “steal”

They’re watching us “fall”

 

They perceive that we’re

making it worse

 

But where are they when we rise?

Building a case against us

Building a cage around us

Restricting us from the goals we want to achieve

Only seeing us to sweep under the rug

We will be the difference.

 

 

Driving Home

 

The right side, where I can see

the small houses and people

The bed the homeless man under

The bridge. If only I could help him,

but he’s never there.

The bright sun when we turn

The corner, blinding me purposely.

No more bumping, no more noise.

I’m home.