I often hear home is where the heart is
but where is that
Home can be between four walls
an ally, or a flat
but home is like love
it can't be defined
but when you are there, the feeling is divine
See home is a place, you know when you leave
it's where you lay roots, that grow into trees
it's a hot coco in the snow
it's italian ice in the spring
it's more than where you sleep
its the place in which you dream
It's that piece of you that's missing
when you go away
It's the piece no matter where you are
you know will never change
It the place that make you smile
it's the place that you shed tears
its the place you spent all your life
or just a couple years
It's the place that makes you smile
it's the place that you may fear
it's the place if you were lost
you know it's always there,
See I tried running from home once
Convinced to see it the way the world told me
but when I left I missed the wawas, the cheesesteaks, and the hoagies
I missed basketball games at the parks, and laughing with my friends
leaving was what I needed to open up my lens
See home is where you build
that made you into you
Home is the place that will always be true
I often hear home is where the heart is
but tell me where that's at
It's the place that you are welcome
and never need a mat.
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Jokes on you
Is it still funny when the jokes on you? I mean not too much can go wrong when you are young, athletic, and popular. You get the girls you want, you always get picked first, and most importantly you feel power. Power. That’s such an annulling term, does power make you strong, or give others the opportunity to take it all away? We didn’t think there was anything anybody could do to take away the power we had, all we did was stay in our lane. There were three of us. We quickly became known as the three musketeers, always together no matter what the circumstances. We followed a daily routine: go to school, play basketball, and hangout until we had to go home. One of our favorite places to play basketball was the neighborhood PAL, or police athletic league. All the kids from around the neighborhood would come with their squads to see who was the best. It gave you the rush of a game 7 NBA finals, so of course sometimes the games got chippy. One day the games got a little overboard, seeing that our community was tight knit. Everybody knew everybody, and most people knew the parents too. Every now and then we had our little petty arguments and even fights, but it was always a means to an end; or so we thought. This day was different though, you remember what I said about power? See power is corruption, power gives you a false sense of superiority and control. Some of the greatest heroes in our history books, died in the pursuit of power, or because they already had it. What most people don’t understand though is power is the goal in most black communities, and the quickest way to gain power is FEAR. Fear is never felt by those who are perceived to have the most power, maybe that’s what made this story funny to me, but what if I was on the other side of the fence, or the barrel. After school me and my two friends decided to meet at the PAL at 4 o'clock, and at four o’clock we were all waiting outside. Shortly after we were let in the gym, one of our friends ran off, but they came back in time before the first game. As the games start it gets chippy as usual, one of the musketeers begins arguing with another friend to the point beyond redemption. Instead of the regular old trash talk, this conversation elevated to the promise of a fist fight outside. We had to pull them away inside just to finish the games, but there was hidden knowledge you only knew if you were a part of the musketeers. We knew that before he walked inside the gym he had to find a place outside to hide a 9mm he just showed off to us before stepping in the gym. “Watch when we leave” Those words echoed in my ears, as he shouted past my shoulders. Fear. They were both my friends, on one hand I couldn’t let one friend die, on the other I couldn’t let my other friend throw his life away. I was in a lose lose situation, and the only thing I knew at that moment was that I had about an hour to change his mind. We lost that game, and that gave me the perfect opportunity to bring it up. “Bro, don’t throw your life away over a petty argument”. He responded with “Bro I already know, I’m just going to scare him the gun isn’t loaded”. An anchor was lifted off of my chest, compared to the alternative this was a blessing from heaven. That was probably the quickest hour of my life, what was once fear was now anticipation, the third member of the musketeers was also aware of what was supposed to go down outside. As everything wraps up and people are leaving the gym, a crowd of the neighborhood kids move in a group ready to watch a fight like it was WWE or Professional boxing. As they finally found the ally they were going to handle their differences, the crowd organized into a circle, with two former friends standing a few feet apart. Suddenly, the member of the musketeer pulled out the gun that he hid earlier, and everybody dispersed like wind to a flame. The musketeers all started laughing, as everybody ran in fear afraid that a bullet had their name on it. It was like being behind the scenes of a magic trick. The fact that nobody understood the joke made it that much funnier, but what was funny? To us it was funny because we understood there was no real threat, but just as the crowd's ignorance created a joke. Then I began to question the motives for his actions. Would there have been a discussion of fighting if my friend didn’t feel a sense of power from his gun. See power is a weird phenomenon when you presume you have it, you feel the need to show it. We laughed for a solid week about the events that happened, but 1 in 4 black men in America deaths are through the use of firearms, so little did we understand the joke was on us.
By Garold Mcnail3 years ago in Criminal
F*ck Power, I'm searching for Peace.
Note: I wrote this free verse poem to try and capture a glimspe of the raw, blunt, and harsh reality sexual assualt and domestic violence survivors have to endure. Our dark stories don't have to define us, and when some choose to share their stories, it allows us to see that we aren't alone in these intense and oftentimes debilitating emotions. I wish I could console every survivor and hold them until they feel whole again. A piece of my heart is with every one of you. I hope one day your eyes glisten again with your spark, because the fire inside doesn't have to just burn; it can glow, filling your soul with renewed Hope.
By Ariana Yeager 5 days ago in Poets
Spectating
I can't imagine dying like this, in a place like this; on a cold, dirty pavement with rush hour traffic screaming by and a crowd looking on while paramedics struggle to find space to move. Who could? Deep down we all think there should be a reason, a moment of clarity... or a family presence, at least. For this man, this boy, the rail thin woman lighting a cigarette in a faux fur jacket will have to do - she's been here since the start, her eyes tracking the movement of my shoulders as we fight to keep him on the right side of the line.
By S. A. Crawford6 days ago in Fiction
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