Kensington(through my eyes)
As I look outside my window,
I sigh thinking of what could be,
What should be,
And what is not.
There are drug dealers on the corner,
Stumbling over each other
Trying to make a dishonest living.
Dying over a sale.
Trash on the streets
To compliment the prostitues
Under the EL.
You ask, 'Is this Hell? '
No, for me it's home,
It's people are suffering right now,
Something's got to give,
People here are dying
Just trying to live.
The children roam freely
Among the chaos
Becoming immune to the destruction around them
Becoming used to being lost.
Then I look in my own home,
And I see the same images glorified on my TV
Skeletons in my magazines
Chaos in the news,
If I want change
It has to start with me.
poem by Denice Robinson
Added by Poetry Lover
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