I wonder if it’s that simple?
I am thirteen, white, Jewish, born in New York.
I go to school here, an all-boys school, an Upper East Side school.
Every day, after school, I
walk up Park, then Madison, then up to
East 85th Street.
Up the elevator, as Langston Hughes does.
Not the poet, but the character, college-age and adulthood-bound.
So like Langston, I
take the elevator up, enter my home,
sit down, and write this page.
It’s not easy to know what is true for you or me
at thirteen, my age, but I guess I’m what
I feel and see and hear.
New York, I hear you, the
busy bodies of the city who
cry out in both anguish and relief.
Relief, for they have purpose,
but anguish for the endless, tired, rusty machine that is their world.
I like my friends.
I like the stories of heroes and villains, both fiction and non,
stories that make me sad,
happy, jealous, and free.
I believe in kindness, friendship,
humor, and open arms.
I guess I can’t define myself.
I’ve learned that thus far.
My friends and I, we have many differences:
some with just our personalities.
We are all different instruments.
We all play to our own tune;
yet, we all play in harmony.
This is my page for English 7B.