by Jose A. Vadi

I want ya'll to know,
That this poem comes from a place,
A land littered with white picket fences,
People saving face.
Filled with complacency in lands of democracy *
I come from a place.
Where parents are silent,
And teachers are biased,
Praising what's accepted,
Ignoring the connections,
Between a lost youth and an old generation,
Living in excuses
Not finding solutions
To kids stuck in lands of disillusion.

I remember a girl,
Whose name starts with J,
All she wanted to do was lay down with guitar players and sing the weekends away.
She was my first love --
First kiss, the bliss I felt from her silent kiss was as painful as a slit wrist,
Cuz each time she was in my arms,
I knew her mind was lost in the backyards,
Of her own depression
Her misguided stressin',
Lost in a confusion without any direction,
Doubting herself,
While silently knowing it *
She wanted to change.
She knew her pain - you could trace it up her nose
Her arms
It was all scared
Drug induced armies that should've been disarmed,
She wanted to change.

She says she's manic,
Depressed in a forest where nobody could hear her scream,
With pain living her nail polish *black and portentous *
She lays within sheets, finding comfort through meth,
Sniffing and wishing and praying for whatever's left,
Of this bullshit life she wanted it to end *
To kill off the sights and find her best friend,
That bright white light, all within her sights!
While mother keeps on saying, \"Everything's alright *
Not my kid!\" she says, while clinging to the status quo,
Where girls are forced to become trendy hoes,
And ignore the creative flows of this lyrical maestro,
Her mother ignored her soul,
Put it on hold,
In layaway departments devoid of all holds
Barred, in her arms: no space for comfort,
Her mother ignored her.
Her mother ignored her.

She was my first love,
My first kiss.
Stuck six feet under by talent sadly squandered,
Never realizing the possibilities coming from her originality,
She came from a place.

I saw her last Christmas,
The night was cold,
I saw the smoke coming from her cigarettes' soul,
That she puffed from her pouting, oh so innocent lips,
Amidst tears and sadness,
She said to me in a childish lisp,
\"I had an abortion\"
18 years old,
Caught in the crossroads of funky fornication,
She was stoned
Drunk off her ass
Laughing with crass classmates filling her glass,
Of empty promises and formulated conduits,
Up for sale in the pavement of his erogenous
Being, the scene was filled with orgies misleading,
Cheating, deceiving, her cries non-believing,
Finding a place through the words of her peers *
Just silent whispers traveling from ear to ear....
She came from a place,
Same one as myself,
But we went down different paths,
And who's to say who will laugh last?
We're all the same in this trivialized game,
Trying to find sanity in a world of \"all the sames\",
I mean we lie to ourselves on a daily basis,
So who's to say that this girl,
Whose name starts with J,
Is not the girl you walk by everyday?
The one who finds comfort in gazes that turn away,
The one who once called you Mommy or Daddy,
And used to sing the weekends away,
The one you drive to school everyday *
Who's to say your child is not the same.[/b]