Welcome to My L.A.

A poem written based on the “My L.A.” unit in English 12: L.A. Stories.

My L.A. is defending the “free parking” in exchange for the $8 coffee.

My L.A. is thinking that the $10 sushi from the grocery store is a “fancy night out”

My L.A. is the paint job that always smelled fresh. Walking along that cracked pavement, alongside the towering oak tree that shades mi abuela’s home.

My L.A. is Doña Manita, la tamalera, on the corner of Van Nuys and Southwest, bartering from the trunk of her Toyota silver minivan.

My L.A. is the Metro 110 bus brakes that “shhh” and lull the neighborhood every 20 minutes or so.

My L.A. is triple-checking my grandmother’s backdoor locks porque una nunca sabe.

My L.A. is knowing when to lock the car so that my backpack doesn’t get stolen… again…

My L.A. is telling outsiders that I’m from “the Culver City area” to hide my Inglewood roots.

My L.A. is knowing when to take which sides of the 405 or the 110.

My L.A. is knowing that all of the best food, doesn’t come from a $20 burger joint, but rather the streets.

My L.A. is still calling it “Staples Center” and not “Crypto.com Arena”

L.A. is a scratched lottery ticket that everyone seems to keep scratching.

My L.A. is not your L.A.

Your L.A. is not My L.A.

My L.A. is a living memoir, inked in the dialects of streets and the unwritten rules of survival, a narrative penned by its people, whispered through generations—a city both cherished and fiercely protected.

Mi Los Ángeles es donde Díos crea y deja todos sus ángeles

Photo Credit: Matthew De Alba