It isn't just the way things are, everything speaks of a deeper story. A memory, a thought, a belief, a fear, a vision, a testimony- It's someone's life.

Broken bottles, shards of glass, cigarette butts, pieces of trash, used condoms and used syringes are objects that clothe the grounds of the city's ghettos.

Alcoholism is how the parents cope. Cigarettes and weed are what the children smoke. The liquor stores stationed on nearly every corner have products for the entire family.



In the schools, the children are learning how to read, write and solve numerical equations... and a little girl thinks "The Projects" is the name of a town she lives in...



In the streets, the children are taught to steal, kill and destroy. Gangbanging seems to be a way of life. Getting promoted to a higher rank is a dream come true.

You subject the children to
Drugs
Sex
Violence... in their playing grounds...

You fill their little heads with filth and garbage.
You corrupt their tiny souls with secrets they can't keep.

Needle Exchange Program



The children need to be held, nurtured, cared for, taught to live and taught to thrive. Why do you seek to over sexualize them and introduce them to the temporary high and quick fix antidotes that never really make them believe in anything but instead leaves them with nothing to hold on to? Who will care for the children?

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In seasons of distress and grief, my soul has often found relief and oft' escaped the tempter's snare, by thy return, sweet hour of prayer.

Restless offender
My tormentor laughed at my predicament
Made a mockery of my cries for help
Relishing bad behavior proved to be dangerous
I screamed out into a world of silence
And the same dumb voice responded
Hellooooooo Hellooooooo
Is there help? Is there help?
My words echoed off of the walls
That closed me in
Hollow

We want just the tiniest taste of freedom.



We dance in shattered freedom.

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Life is too short to waste precious hours sleeping...
I break out of my mental confinement for just a moment...
Those who would not come out during the day were out then.
Vagrants were rummaging through garbage cans for a midnight snack.
I feared becoming a victim of a midnight attack.
I remember that I must steal away
steal away
steal away to Jesus.

Vertigo

I feel like

I'm falling from the atmosphere

Masqueraded as tiny droplets of rain;

Psychological precipitation

I am a poor wayfaring stranger,
While traveling through this world below.
There is no sickness, toil or danger
In that bright land to which I go.
I'm going there to meet my Father,
He said he'd meet me when I go.
I'm only going over Jordan,
I'm only going over home. -Poor Wayfaring Stranger




Letting go of my past and glad to have another chance and my heart will dance 'cause I don't have to read that page again..."




I would rather be remembered for the way I think, dream and imagine, for the way I create. My heart, my mind, they must count for something!

-Jennifer Lawrence, the artist formerly known as J.Fro. ;0)

*All of the photos in this blog were taken by Jennifer Lawrence and Marissa Albarran. The poems are things of my heart and mind, old and new. These are just my thoughts. It's what I see, think and believe. It's just my point of view. You may look at my pictures and see something totally different...and that's okay. Feel free to express. :0)

Real life... "The Ghetto"