"The uncivilized ghetto" is a poem of a place many of us know too well. A place of anger for the lack of resources and educational advancements. A place where no matter how much of yourself you give, you are still referred to as "those people or looked down in pity. We are done waiting for politicians to make a change, it's our turn. Change starts with acknowledging the problem and here it is. Here is the problem through my eyes.
The Uncivilized Ghetto
Asbestos-ridden buildings
Expired food and spoiled milk fed to the masses
Leakages covered with duct tape and buckets
Someone help us! We are dying!
Someone break us free!
Free from the unfiltered water that fills our bodies
Free us from our fucking cells!
I mean our system or the corruption of it.
Just let us out, please, we are begging you.
We are surrounded by underpaid teachers who are trying their best
Their classrooms can't hold any more of us
It is like walking into a can of squirming sardines
Their budgets limit our opportunities
Our college advisors can't seem to keep up
They are slowly giving up
Many of us are falling through the cracks
Becoming what everyone says we are
Simply filling the shoes of our predecessors
Only a few us get to make it out and "make it big"
But screw making it out
Every corner I turn I have to explain myself
The way I look and talk needs to change
Everyone looks at us with pity or curiosity
"Congrats on making it out" they tell us
As if we are the prodigal sons and daughters of the uncivilized ghetto
"How did you do it? Did affirmative action get you here?"
I can't even get mad, I can't even react because that's what they expect
"You don't seem or sound like those people," they say proudly
As if it's a compliment
As if I should kiss the floor they walk on
Praise these kings and queens who separate me from the masses
Fuck you. I am "those people"
I am from Detroit.
I am from the motor city.
I do look like the daughter of immigrants.
I do sound like a beautiful soliloquy made up of my bilingualism.
I would prefer to be stoned for being the black sheep
Rather than to be loved for hiding my individuality.
