Where I come from

They say the place that you grew up can make a person who they are. I grew up in a small town. In that small town I witnessed life, love and death. I watched this small town drain the life out of people. I saw it make people addicts and killers and the worst of all victims. In my creative writing class in college I was asked to make a poem, and I am not very good at poetry. The teacher said take a word and repeat it. I changed the town's name but I can vouch that this is a mostly true story.


Casper, Town of Needles



[image error] Casper, the town of dreams. The town of nightmares. The town of a thousand dreamy nightmares. All who stalk the town with hatchets and sledgehammers, thanks to dingy dope filled needles.

Casper, the town of psycho clowns, and the tiny midgets who beat them. The incorporated town with one streetlight by the post office. One gas station, four bars, and three liquor stores.

Casper, the home of crackheads who don’t give a damn. The town of a million children running around the dirt roads with bare feet, runny noses and head lice. The schools filled with teachers who would like to give a damn, but they don’t live in Casper.

Casper, where no one dares to stop. The cops don’t even wink an eye or turn to look. The town where everything runs illegal, and the oldest sibling of six is trying to buy her baby brother some diapers with twenty food stamps.

Casper, the town of forgotten dreams. The dream, when I grow up, leaves you when you turn ten. The cruel streets are harsh to play on. The drugs are real. The threat is real, but the psycho clowns are only in their heads as the dingy dope filled needles play along their skin.

You can find this as well as other stories kind of like this one in Flights of Delusion my short story book.
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