![]() Threads of Poems from Youth in Boyle Heights, East Los Angeles The homeless have no home but the streets. Some mistakes happened to make them go down that path where one day you're homeless physically and the next your homeless mentally... You know your life is only borrowed. Anybody can take it away from you. You could die in all sorts of ways. I am afraid of going to sleep and never waking up. I don't want to die in a young age, in a cage; Don't want to die for a dumb reason. I'm also scared of losing my whole family... Hey, I was close to death. Death took my brother, but he's still in my life. So, I write the truth, not the fakeness of this world. I am blinded, but I stay awake. My eyes are closed but I could still see you. My poetry's blinding, but still I could write it... Sometimes I feel different and new; like I have shed my old skin for a new one. One with no scars and no bruises, one that is true and real. These familiar smiles, gentle voices and sounds, take me home; where I really belong, My heart. |
Voices of Youth, Voices of Community |
