Pablo Robles

Rookie (1/20/91 / Puerto Rico)

The Ghetto - Poem by Pablo Robles

Houses burnt down to a powder ash,
Cars driving by with their music on blast,
Babies crying of hunger,
Their mothers they couldn't be younger,
Drug dealers at every drug free school zone,
But what can I tell you this is my home,
Its the getto but it will just have to do,
Every day someone dies but thats nothing new,
The worst part of all is the steriotypes,
People look at you like you dont know whats right,
But I'm very educated and I do know whats wrong,
To prejudge people for just being strong,
Being strong because they can survive,
In a place called the ghetto were many have died.


Comments about The Ghetto by Pablo Robles

  • Margaret O Driscoll (11/26/2015 12:35:00 PM)


    Well done, very raw and honest (Report) Reply

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Poem Submitted: Wednesday, March 22, 2006

Poem Edited: Wednesday, March 22, 2006


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