Sing To Me Instead

Breathe - In The Heights, Leslie Grace

This is my street, where I grew up. And as I walk down the street, I smile at the proud faces. Everyone watches me, talking about how I'm 'going places,' but they don't know. How could I tell them that about my life outside of New York? And I wave and greet my old neighbours, the abuelas who looked after me after school once or twice.

And I know that if they knew, they'd be disappointed. Sorry, I just couldn't hack it.

The radios sitting on people's steps play old forgotten songs, and I remember the days when this city was mine. The praise, the compliments, and as I left the entire neighbourhood waved. They told me to b brave, and that I would be fine. And maybe it's just me, but it all seems like a lifetime ago. So what could I say to these faces that I knew so long ago? A hello? A 'hey, I'm home?'

But they're not worried about me, because they don't know. They called me a star, said that I'd be the one to do it. And I did, in a way. Because they're all counting on me. I'm the one who made it out! I always made the grade, but maybe I should've just stayed home.

When I was little, I used to stay awake at night, and climb out onto my fire escape, and watch the lights of Manhattan. I got every scholarship I could, saved every dollar I could scrounge up, and it paid off. I was the first to go to college, so how do I tell them why I'm back? I can't.

So I'll straighten my spine, smile at everyone. Say that 'everything's fine, it's all cool.' Standard replies, I've made friends, there are tests and papers. Wave goodbye, and pray to the sky that I can get through this.

Because I know that I'm letting you down. How could I dare to stare at all of those faces, and tell them? I'm back home, and all I can do is breathe.