Read Poem: My Jungle, by X

I roam concrete cracked grasslands,
where even the grass is grateful to fight it’s way through to find the slightest sliver of sunlight

I’m forced to go to underfunded public schools where learning is an afterthought
and every section of the school needs a go fund me account
No after school programs,
making gangs the only after school activity with a sign up sheet

I’ve grown use to dodging crack pipes and bullet shells on a daily,
like a game of improper hopscotch
Caution tape collects together forming tumbleweeds of yellow misery
which are guided down the street as the wind blows

Police sirens echo in the background, bouncing off
abandoned, board, blanketed, brick homes
creating a soundtrack for the ghetto
As the track trembles through the air
it is unknown if the dj is friend or foe

Marvelous Murals of those killed by outsiders and those that live here can be found on the side of liquor stores
Each name etched into the forefront of my mind
making it impossible for any to escape
Crackheads and drug dealers populate the same street corners creating a physical embodiment of an unbroken cycle

Bad memories and lost dreams fill the poverty polluted air
making clouds of nightmares and insanity.
Breath too much and violence becomes your nature
At any moment
and without warnig
the gunshow is given the greenlight and gunshots roam free looking for a new place to call home
Allowing my couch to gain no wear and tear because it’s safer to sit on the hardwood

It begins to rain and pockets of burgundy appear on the sidewalk
as dried up blood comes to life trying to find the nearest drain to escape through,
If only I could escape as easily
Momma said we just too poor to live anywhere other than where we are now.

So I will continue to roam this concrete jungle

My Jungle
with concrete cracked grassland
My Jungle
where I play improper games of hopscotch
My Jungle
where I watch caution tape blow up and down the street
My Jungle
where I listen to police sirens
My Jungle
with marvelous murals
My Jungle
with unbroken cycles
My Jungle
where rain cleans the blood of the sidewalk
My Jungle
with no after school programs
My Jungle
where gunshots roam the air

This is My Jungle
A Jungle I call home

-Writer X-

Author: poetryfest

Submit your Poetry to the Festival. Three Options: 1) To post. 2) To have performed by an actor 3) To be made into a film. View all posts by poetryfest