This is supposed to be Home

Since I was a little girl,

I have lived scared


Thundering gun shots I would hear at night,

When I was alone was when it struck me the most,

I would curl up under my blanket and pray that everything was going to be okay,

But deep down inside,

I knew it wasn’t

The thundering gun shots traumatized me

And I live scared


The horrid graffiti scribbled,

Marking “Lennox 13”,

Will forever be a horrible sight,

This was a sign of gang’s territories,

Everywhere I go, and everywhere I turn,

The main sight, distracting me from everything,

I would see it

And I live scared


The nights when I could hear people angrily screaming at each other,

or the weird laughs that sounded as if they were drunk,

or maybe the loud rap music they played,

or also the sound of their roaring engines starting,

I couldn’t sleep,

“What if that was my dad? What if I would go through that?” I thought to myself

I painted a vibrant picture in my head,

"What if my dad was the one who didnt really care about me,

But it would haunt me for the rest of the night,

And I live scared


Or maybe those gloomy nights,

The ones with the shining stars,

And the warm breeze,

the ones where i chose to stand outside my door to feel the warmth,

But the only thing that ruined it was the sound of cops,

Or the sound of helicopters,

I would sprint back to my house hoping nothing would happen to me,

And I would be scared


Saturday nights, when about all I heard was the helicopters above my house,

And I would cry,

Hoping that nothing would happen to me,

And I would cry,

Hoping that everything was going to be okay,

Maybe for me it was all going to be okay,

But for others it wasn’t

And I stayed scared


Maybe it was the conversations my mom started,

When I was at the age of knowing my surroundings,

She told,

That I would live afraid,

Afraid of everything around me,

She would tell me to watch out,

She would tell me to take care of myself,

And I asked why,

She would say,

This is a dangerous place; I don’t want you getting hurt

And I was scared


As I wrote this, I could hear cops, and loud cars speeding down my street

And til’ this day,

I run to get to my aunts house,

I walk as fast as I can when I'm out,

or I still am scared of walking alone,

in my own neighborhood

I still am scared


And I think to myself,

Isn’t this supposed to be home?

Tags: From, I, am

Views: 16

Reply to This

Replies to This Discussion

Great last line!
so good and graphic!!!
wow nat! this is so filled with emotion and passion! It's truly a great poem!
really good (:
nat that's really good! extremely emotional!! i like the last line too1 :P
haah thanks alex!!
This is soooooo good!!!!
thanks jojo!!!



Latest Activity

Profile IconLaudemhir Jan Par and Ryan joined one billion poets
Adil Husain posted a discussion

My choice

SmallStarting off with a thousand dreams in these eyes that brimmed with tears,Breaking down a million times before I could adjust with my strange fears,Wanting to prove to a shattering self that I can do better,Future's haunted, painted black, fading into nothingness,my soul I splatter,Onto these lines,weaving sense out of densely entangled vines,Self-esteem's dead,ran out of ore in these maddened mines,The dreams are dead,aspirations frozen,Only regret left,for the paths I've chosen,Heart's…See More
Aug 11
Narsha Moon is now a member of one billion poets
Aug 1
Profile IconSecretpoet and FRANK KWABENA joined one billion poets
Jul 10
John Dee Rhea is now a member of one billion poets
Jun 26
chitransh pandey is now a member of one billion poets
Jun 20
Profile IconAmanda Holt and Briaunna joined one billion poets
Jun 17
Raymond Flores posted a discussion


i don't know if its love or lust(maybe a combination of the two)but both halves of me finally agreethat they would be terriblyand perpetually incompleteif our eyes fail to lockif our fingers do not intertwineif I do not follow the roadfrom your collarboneup to brush the stray lockoff the side of your facethen end up comfortably at the small of your neckit'd be a tragedy of shakespearean proportionsfor our lips to not have the pleasure ofgetting acquaintedhow stale the air iswhen we do not share…See More
Jun 14


  • Add Photos
  • View All


  • Add Videos
  • View All



© 2014   Created by One Billion Poets.   Powered by

Badges  |  Report an Issue  |  Terms of Service

Locations of visitors to this page Privacy Policy by TRUSTe