The Place I Call Home


To the naked eye you see all the turbulence flint projects. Nobody detects the immeasurable possibility. Someone expects optimism to be washed away like a tear after a blink.  But I will hold up this mirror to reflect perception of an Assortment of Beautiful People; The Mirrors lack the pondering image that Beautiful Peoples crave To See the Reflection of How Beautiful They Really Are


The whispers in the wind are welcomed by bullets clashing through the night air. I hear young brothers rap about the thug life, but the hustle is just an invisible cry for help. I hear my classmates cracking jokes in class and the next day they cracking open a casket for him. I Hear Dreamers Wishes and Wants to Do Better, I have a dream that one day we can do better, if we listen the voice from within inspiring us to see beyond what is distinguishable to the natural eye



Nothing can compare the taste of salted tear drop rolling down my cheeks, sitting in church service attending a funeral every week. We constantly lose our youth; if it’s not to death then it’s to motherhood. Girls think being pregnant is a look that looks good. No longer can you be that child, the days of being free and wild have turned into struggle and delay, in this community everybody’s grabbing Their Sprinkle of Opportunity, because a second chance is available every day



I Smell Ambition Pouring off the Forehead of Everyone Trying to recover from a Minor Setback, Every action is chased down by consequences. The ambience of These Familiar Feelings of Everybody Wanting the Same Goal but Taking Different Paths to Get There, give me hope that we can all get there

 I Feel This Familiar Feeling and I Know That I Am Home

-         Christa Hall



It is an amazing poem

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