Life in the crack

I did not have a choice starting life

as a seed in the crack of a rock.

The nourishment I received

to grow and survive

came from my strong and determined mother.

Her strength carried me

through irregular street conditions:

gangs, drugs, police brutality,moral bankruptcy,

and a broken system.

I was mentally beaten

from one side to the other,

and still I survived—

year after year,

I grew.

I became proof

that the projects, called a mishap,

imperfect,

a wasteland,

could still produce life.

Here I am:

from wounds to scars.

The crack I was raised in

was the opposite of suburban meadows.

Where I grew up was not fair,

but it was my reality.

It was my pain.

My joy.

My survival.

My surrender.

My life.

My story to tell.