Amidst all the hustle and bustle of the biggest city in the world.
Amidst all the turmoil of rooms being booked to make the most efficient use of time and space.
This place got overlooked.

I'm in an empty classroom,
Alone.

The empty chairs,
A quiet reminder,
This place is used to more.
But I'm in an empty classroom,
And my thoughts are my own.

I feel illicit.
And excited.
And inspired.
I feel like becoming, the people I admire.

The space is defiantly alive,
There's new stacks of papers each night.
I feel in touch with the beauty of society,
But safe from its vice.
I barricade myself behind battlements of books.

My presence will almost certainly go undetected,
No one will notice the slight shift in the desks and chairs.
But I feel connected.
There is a shared spirit, that lives in the air.

I breath in the ghosts of the day time,
Their raucous noise nothing but a whisper, now.
I don't dislike those ghosts,
I'm just thankful for this time to play alone with the possibility
Of creation.

Away from idle chitterlings.
Their whispering ghosts make me relish this stolen time all the more.
I've got until the sun sinks, sinks, sinks into the deep dark.
I've got a candle, I've got my heart.
until sunrise.

And hopefully someday,
someone will feel,
In the midst of their new delight
The spirit of
the ghost of night.

I'm in an empty class,
Alone,
In the spaces left over,
I feel at home.

I am just 1 generation removed from my Jamaican Heritage
USA is my country of birth yet Jamaican customs and traditions are woven into the fabric of I and I

The foods permeate my palate and set me apart from my American counterparts
Instead of chitterlings, collard greens, *** roast, & black eyed peas
I savor salt fish and banana, stew peas and rice and curry goat as my traditional meals.

I was born into my parent’s American dream
Straddling the fence meant I sometimes didn’t fit in

I don’t speak Patois yet the accent has painted my tongue
To feel so connected to a culture, yet so distant from its people
JAmerican is the name given to me.

For really nice investment advice I listen to bankrupted E.F. Hutton
'cause their wisdom's deeper than lard-*** Ricki Lake's belly button
which wouldn't be like that if this pig wasn't such a ******* glutton
while praising perverts when it's her trap that she should be shuttin'
as gay Gomer learned to do when being reamed by ol' Frank Sutton
who grew up eating chitterlings, fish heads & under-cooked mutton
that he cut into chunks with a pen-knife not sharp enough for cuttin'
an Indian-reservation ewe that was too skinny for easy sheep-guttin'
by those mule-skinning red men from the island preserve of Dutton
where total victory was won the week they let the raunchiest **** in