I have fallen too many times and got up
But still wasn't standing
The world was demanding a new me
But I was too busy getting high
As an eagle, not yet landing.
My eyes were bloodshot red
Sitting in a cloud of smoke.
A 40-ounce in my hand and dreaming of a fantasy world
As phony as the Pope.
I stayed planted to the ground too scared to fly,
But wasn't too scared to put that blunt
In my mouth and get high.
- Craig McKenzie, resident of Higgins House, Chicago
Art and poetry are building bridges between two groups whose paths otherwise may …