Things were tight, always have been. 

I was raised by a young black man. 

Single father, mother no where to be found. 

No guidance on how to raise a young female child. 

Both his parents deceased before we could ever meet. 

I was in his world , he was in mine. 

But around when I was nine, we were taken by surpise. 

The roof on our home collapsed in two rooms.

We had thoughts of moving before, but the storm opened the door.

We were homeless for my first day of fifth grade. 

Staying at my great aunt's house was not home. 

I was searching for house at nine years old, 

We had no place to call home.

By the grace of God, our prayers were answered. 

Five months later, we were finally settling. 

A place to call home and a lesson was taught. 

Patience isn't based on your clock. 

I am eighteen years old, and still go by this motto.