I know this is the place to be, the time to live, the air to breathe.
New York City, in the early eighties.
I feel it in my bones
A yearning to go home.
I stay rocking the beat
In my mind every street
echos in graffiti
and Zoro from Style Wars
is my romeo
my city in the dark
the brisk air hits my cheeks
Krylons in my bag
But I aint catching another tag
I have bombs in my hands
DESTRA across the city sky
in pink, blue, and white.
Riding on the train home
took a joint straight to the dome
The paint tossed across my skin
Feels better than any makeup I’ve ever been in
NYC is a state of mind
and there I’ll stay for the rest of time

—By Jade V., 18, Los Angeles