A house. A green house upon a hill, hidden from downtown by tall bamboo Sprouts.…
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