Where I’m From

This was my first week back at Perez since last Spring and I was so excited to meet Ms. Murray’s 5th grade class. I started off our ten week residency the way I always like to, by asking students what they think poetry is and some of the things it can do. Then we started by reading a poem “Where I’m From” by a former 8th Grade Perez student, Amorosa. I love starting off my workshop series with this exercise. It’s a great way for students to see that they already have stories inside them, and that they already have the skills to write something rich with imagery and specific. This is a class FULL of writers, and I can’t wait to see what they create over the next 10 weeks. It was hard to pick this week’s poems because there were so many really amazing pieces. Congrats to Braden and Maelynn on getting your awesome poems published!

 

Ms. Murray 5th Grade

Where I Come From Braden

Where I come from, there are many 

people that greet me while I walk down 

the street, young and elderly. 

 

Where I come from, I smell sweet 

Fabuloso, of which me and my mom clean, 

and the tasty neighborhood food trucks 

that sell burgers and tacos. 

 

Where I come from, I can drive 

and see many good restaurants. 

 

Where I come from. I love hearing 

the loud cars and trains that come by. 

It’s like they’re telling me to stay 

awake

 

Where I come from, I can touch 

the tall gates in my neighborhood. 

 

Where I come from, 
I can greet my 

neighbor. What are they doing? 

 

Where I come from, I hope people drink 

and argue less. Where I come 

from, there are many things that 

have happened and things to do.

 

My Home Maelynn Y.

I live in West Englewood, 

where every morning that I step outside, 

my eyes fall on the big and old 

building across the street, and 

the really large lot next door. 

When I breathe, my lungs fill 

with the faint scent of car 

gas and the strong scent of plants 

and soil and nature. 


I can taste the spicy dynamites 

in my mouth, and the bubbliness 

of the coke as well. I

hear the firing gunshots on 

some nights, and the faint whistling 

of the wind on others. 

I can feel the rough brick of 

the buildings as well as the cool 

metal of the gates, tall and short. 


Every day, I see the same old 

man walking on the sidewalk. 

I hope that someday 

West Inglewood can get to become 

a safer and better place.