"Even in the midst of urban adversity, the sweet melody of birds chirping can be heard. Barred windows may confine us, but they cannot constrain our dreams. Children from the hood have aspirations too, and our dreams have the power to flourish like a resilient seed sprouting through the cracks of concrete. Despite the hardships, we've witnessed the impact of drugs and violence, but we've also seen the triumph of those who've overcome and returned to share their stories, inspiring us to dream big. We know that beyond the sounds of gunfire and the limitations of our neighborhood, there's a world full of possibilities. Our dreams reside in our thoughts, words, music, and fashion. Though others may only see our struggles, we know that our dreams are valid, and they propel us forward. Circumstances may try to dampen our spirits, but they can also nourish our aspirations, reminding us that we have the potential to reach for the stars and make our dreams a reality."
About the Creator
Ken Clepper
Versatile wordsmith and history buff: poet, author, essayist, and enthusiast of the past."
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More stories from Ken Clepper and writers in Poets and other communities.
I Previously Clung To A Grievance
"I once clung to a grudge for so long, I forgot the original dispute. I allowed anger to construct a vast metropolis in my mind, and I served as its mayor for far too many years. The streets were paved with bitterness, the buildings towered with resentment, and the air was thick with hostility. But, as time passed, I began to realize that this city was not only exhausting to maintain but also toxic to inhabit. The constant noise of anger, the pollution of hatred, and the isolation of resentment took a toll on my well-being. However, I've come to understand that nurturing such resentment is not worth the burden it carries. Forgiveness may be elusive, but it's the only place I desire to call home. It's a peaceful haven, where understanding and empathy reside, and the cost of living is significantly lower. The air is fresh, the skies are clear, and the community is supportive. Thank you for guiding me towards this realization, for helping me evacuate the city of anger and relocate to the town of forgiveness. I'm grateful for the journey, and I'm at peace in my new home."
By Ken Clepper about a month ago in Poets
The Seventh Step
“It’s a different room every time. Sometimes it’s my grandma’s house from when I was little. Sometimes it’s my college apartment. Sometimes it’s somewhere unfamiliar, but always there are the stairs. I know I have to go up, but I’m afraid. I can feel my heart pounding and I feel sick, but I don’t know why. It’s like my body isn’t mine anymore, and I start up the stairs, and I’m thinking ‘No, stop!’ but I just keep going. When I get a ways up, I try to take another step but, instead, I fall backwards. I can feel myself in the air, just in a panic, nothing to hold on to and no way to stop, just falling, falling, falling until THUMP! And then I wake up.”
By Megan Malcolm7 days ago in Fiction
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