ANNY PEREZ
12TH GRADE
TO CONCRETE
As I walk on my way to school
I think about who I will become
an astronaut,
a doctor, a lawyer,
president,
but I wish to know where you come
from.
But what they fail to see is what you
have given;
opportunity and journey.
They don’t notice.
Notice the fact that if it weren’t for you,
their dreams would turn to dust at the
break of dawn.
Well I do notice.
I notice the way you age with time
and are marked down with memories
unconsciously.
What path will you set me on
to New York City,
Miami,
Hollywood,
Washington, DC?
The chewed up gum whose elasticity
has been wasted.
Every crack that never found its other
half.
The endless tire marks that trace to a
new beginning.
The scuffs of every shoe that ever
walked.
How do you bear to be stepped on
to feel water droplets rest upon your
face,
to have the world stop and blankly look
down upon you because you never
speak up.
Don’t walk away.
I have given you permission
to step on my face.
HPAC YOUNG WRITERS REVIEW
CLEAN SLATE
As we drive into the south Bronx to go
see our new house I stare in awe. I think
to myself, “This is where we’re going to
live?” What I saw in my surroundings
was nothing ordinary: the filthy streets,
the lifting eyebrows and stare the
people gave me as if I didn’t belong.
They were right; I didn’t.
We wanted a new start, a
“clean slate.” Why you ask? It was
family troubles. But surviving in the
Big City wasn’t going to be as easy as we
thought. Still, after losing my brother
to cancer, we decided we needed a new
start, a place that would give us hope,
inspiration, life again.
Living in the Bronx was
different for me. I was a lost stranger
amongst these people. Watching what
I did and said was crucial; I didn’t want
trouble knocking at my door. As I stood
at the foot of my doorstep, I gazed into
the wonder and awe of the different
cultures I had been surrounded by. In
Germantown, Maryland, there wasn’t
really any diversity, and by moving I
wanted to be part of a family. I wanted
to be able to call this place home.
I was coming back from school,
when I saw Jacob, a boy with dancing
shoes who had been teased on the corner
of my street. As I cautiously walked up
to him I put out my manicured hand to
let him know I wanted to help him and
that I wasn’t going to hurt him. As he
got up he glanced at my shoes.
“You dance?”
“For 5 years now. Why?” I said.
He seemed excited.
“A couple of my friends and I
have a dance club and this year there
is a competition that’s awarding fifty
grand to the winning team,” he said.
“We entered this year hoping we had
a chance to win this competition. We
wanted to use the money to make our
club bigger, turn it into an organization
that would help underprivileged kids
live out their dreams as dancers. Or
at least get close to it in our instance.
But unfortunately our lead dancer had
an accident and we won’t be able to
compete. He was jumped and broke his
ankle.”
And that’s when it happened.
I had been looking for a way to get
involved in the community and here it
was right in front of me. He took me to
go see the team and showed me what
they were working on, I was amazed by
the amount of talent that was hidden or
that had to be hidden. It was so
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