'' The Brightest, Darkest place in The World''

The brightest darkest place in the world to me is a place called Crossroads. Crossroads is a Neighborhood in the middle of Newport, Arkansas. This is a place that takes innocence than turns it in to insolence, it's exits leading one straight off a cliff. You have men on the corners, women on the streets. People's babies lost due to people's beefs. With an allure to this place there's money to be made, can't find a job how else will I get paid. The cracked up, unkept streets, the dirt-stained, red brick-one story apartment buildings, surrounded by a church, corn field, and many abandoned heaps. holes in the rooves and boards on the windows, instead of tearing them down they stay standing, just left there not hard to be found. In my back yard three giant pecan trees stand guard, in the front my family, life's circumstances make them hard.

Struggles, Scuffles, Conflicts, and verdicts, lift that bent shade, open that door, who's going to win this fight? Five dollars on the floor. Gloomy this night, the streets glowing due to orange and green streetlights. People in their car playing Gucci's new song. Hanging out all night, recapping that fight, red and blue, too common of a sight. Police lights flashing, Malcolm Avenue has become the main attraction. Sitting outside watching the cops, kneeling in prayer, shoulders and head dropped. Praying for Gerald because he got shot. With my head down, I pray to God, blood on the streets, In your name we all weep. Exposed to this life, I don't know any better, guilt on my conscience worn like a dirty old sweater.

Still recovering from last night, I wake up to the sun shining so bright. Towering pecan tree silhouettes through my window, I get out of bed, stretch my arms, across the street sweet yellow corn is growing on the Malcolm Avenue farm. The day is Sunday, church painted white, the Twenty-foot crucifix represents the end of all men's blight. All dressed up, we go to church, nineteen years old, God please save our souls. Brother Young screaming, exercising my demons, in my wife's womb, my first son is breathing. Oh, thank you God for such a beautiful gift, I wish my son a golden spoon to lift. Out of church, back to the streets, off to Momma Sandra's house, '' hurry, it's time to eat''. Chicken, spinach, chitterlings, and greens, the first thing we smell, as we open the screen.

I love them, with my people I relate, no rich oil tycoons here, their kids cannot hate. So rich in tradition, within their family I'm the newest addition. left momma's house, it's back to crossroads, it's dilapidated red brick buildings. A strong feeling that I can't explain, this place grows on me, like moss in rain. Stars thick at night, locusts hissing in the trees, the serenity of this sight, makes one say ''jeez''. Eight PM, the pecans picked up from the ground one each, the sun setting, looks like the Georgia peach. All around the sun, the clouds glowing pink I tell myself, '' what a good place to sit and think.''. I love this place, one hundred and ten degrees, the beautiful women are found with ease. I love this place, in its good I see, this place will always be a part me.

Celebrating, shouting, and screaming January seventeenth, my son's beautiful eyes, in brown hue gleaming. Celebrating my son's arrival was short lived, celebrations went dead. My wife received a call letting her know that her best friend's life came to an end. Sitting in her car, that man's actions left Crossroads and Newport scarred. Another person we must remember, though I'd rather see your face, I hate this place so damn much and nobody really cares, are we isolated so deep in space? We live in the greatest nation here on earth and this is the best you got. In so many neighborhoods across the nation are bullets flying hot, these rich politicians are busy counting their money who cares if Newport's citizens have not.

How did this place build me up as a man, the hard knock life, couldn't depend on Uncle Sam. This story is so real, I swear on my life, in my neighborhood there was always some strife. The tears so deep, hearts so swollen, everyone's happiness appeared to be stolen. The dirt red brick buildings, pecan trees so tall, they dropped their pecans and leaves off in the fall. On the cracked roads we stand, in public housing we live. We visit the old church to wash away sin. The south so deep in tradition, the crossroads life is pure attrition. Run in the church when you need saving, I wasn't used to having anything. Crossroads, its simplicity made it my haven.

Don't get me wrong, don't let me negate, my people I love, I have no hate. Being excluded as a youth due to my class, so I went to the hood, and they gave me a pass. How can a group of people feel at home in this place, we live life our lives at one hell of a pace. Crossroads is a place where I've cried, the good moments are equal in stride. Through the suffering and pain, the south's beauty still shines. I hate it I love it; this place will always be mine.