Poetry (Where I'm From)

by Ife-Chudeni Oputa
Honorable Mention, Poetry
Where I’m from the only culture is pop culture
And kids have ethnic names like Apple
And Audio Science

Where I’m from Starbucks replaces the drug dealers on every
       corner
And instead of making sly exchanges for crack or Mary J
We trade Adderall and Vicodin for tall caramel Frappuccinos
Soy, hold the whip

Where I’m from rich girls get high off mystery drugs they buy
       where you’re from
And while police raid your neighborhoods and arrest your mothers,
       fathers, sisters, brothers
Your suppliers are sittin’ high drinkin’ Mai Tais back
Where I’m from

There are no thieves or juvenile delinquents
Just kleptomaniacs and misguided teens
Whose daddies never loved them and mothers are bi—
Z solving daddy issues of their own

Where I’m from we don’t go to church
We go to therapy
And pray at the altar of Dr. Fill-My-Prescription
Where we do the sign of the Rx before taking a holy communion
       of Xanax and lithium

Where I’m from children rule the household
Telling parents the dos and don’ts
Wills and won’ts
How to, when to, why to
There’s no “I’ll knock you into next week”
“Don’t make me snatch you”
I brought you into this world I can take you out,” where I’m from
But sometimes my mother forgets

Where I’m from there’s no Wal-Mart “Always Low Prices”
Or Payless buy one get one anything
It’s I’ll see your Fendi and raise you my Christian Dior, or Coach
       in a pinch, where I’m from

Hip-hop is a trend, not a way of life
And my hips and natural rhythm automatically separate me
From the girls who’ve been taking ballet since they were two

Where I’m from the girls say I don’t look like the people where
       they’re from
So I bleach my skin
I keep my English standard
And my hair straight
To prove that I’m like them
But that’s just cause I don’t know where I come from

See I don’t know that I’m from
Lift Every Voice and Sing
And Go Down Death
Yet Still I rise

And it never occurred to me that Nina’s Four Women were my
       mother
My aunt
My sister
My friend
Or that it was my legacy that was passed
Mother to Son

And no one ever told me that I’m The Rose That Grew From
       Concrete
Or that the Caged Bird sings for me
Or that the King dreams for me
Or that I am a woman
Phenomenally

I guess I thought all that mess was just poetry

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© 2013 Fresno City College—The Review / Ram's Tale is a publication of student writing and artwork from the Humanities and Fine, Performing and Communication Arts Divisions at Fresno City College. Authors retain all rights to their work.