Is it God in these one-off exchanges? Did I catch a glimmer in an elder's smile, or in the shadow of a poor panhandler? I watch kids kick over needles and laugh, continuing to run along. The hollowed plastic hitting pavement echoes in my ears, louder than their giggles. They know what that is and how to identify who uses them. It's too soon for them to understand we were all born innocent. When their awareness sets in and the streets no longer feel safe after dark but they must be outside, they’ll learn to cope. The line between the children and the chronically underserved adults will blur. Generation after generation, it always comes to a head. A happy child is no match for poverty. All they ask for is a chance to not be kept impoverished. An escape, an escape from these conditions. I do not want to trade off tragedies for triumph when I have been so close to either side. From the top to the bottom, I see you. The escape isn’t always in the form of education, or talent, or even pure luck. Sometimes the means are more sinister. Sometimes, it is at the cost of community. When reality fades away, tell me, do you speak to God? They say the dope is a lot stronger than it used to be. Users don’t want to hide in abandoned houses anymore out of fear. Who will find them if something goes wrong? I carry Narcan and a knife. You never know which side of disaster you’ll find yourself on. Once a little child, so many have been let down. I understand anger in the face of privilege. There are reasons to dismiss change when it’s never been of benefit to you. The city gives free needles and not much else. Doctors give out pharmaceutical prescriptions to kick off addictions. We were always playing a rigged game. Jesus has always held the hand of those who are suffering. In averted gazes, do you feel martyrdom? Life expectancy is at least 80 when you're born in Manhattan or Queens. In the Bronx though, 80 is the best you’re looking at boroughwide. We are victims to circumstances engineered to oppress us. Still, we navigate. We gather what little expendable income, time, and energy we have and put it into protecting our communities from malevolent external forces.  Don’t let these faux leaders convince you it’s about suffering alone. They aim to keep individualistic attitudes on top. The media will tell you, you are special, but they aren’t. A rhetoric passed down from class to class, from caste to caste. They will try to convince you the Bronx is home to the undesirables, until developers decide it's not. It's for everyone (if there's a profit to be made)! Between police and policymakers I often wonder, do they fear God? And I worry, because God knows every heart. I don’t worry for my neighbors, for drug addicts or for children. Lord knows they’re trying their best with the hand they’ve been dealt, that there are simply too many factors larger than us at play. Behind ‘black on black crime’ are proxy wars for entities most of its victims will never know. Our blood stains hands far outside of our city, even outside of our country. But the Bronx, like so many other underserved counties across America, can be rehabilitated. However, it cannot be done from the outside. No one has the compassion for and understanding of our struggles more than we do. And it starts with protecting the children. With the exposure and acknowledgment of our circumstances. With creating paths for success within our own communities. So many organizations have popped up to facilitate Bronx natives growth. More are on the way. We are the last ones on the totem pole to fight for our city. So naturally, fight, we must. With God on our side, we will prevail.