I’m the first grandchild, my mother’s first child and the black sheep of my family. When my father left my mother became another number, another statistic, a single black mother doing it all on her own. While most teen-agers socialize beyond measure I enjoy being alone and find it enjoyable to count random objects. While my generation spends countless hours on Face-book and clicking that darn computer mouse with total interest and accuracy, amazingly I'm writing in my small diary cute little poems and anecdotes that gives you that sacchariferous feeling of innocence when read to oneself. When the average American is going over those useless cell phone minutes that I equate to empty conversations and meaningless giggles, I am in query on how to change the world for children. On the contrary some reading this may feel as though what i state may be very rare or uncommon for one of this tender age of seventeen, or it may be beyond complex for them to truly believe or have the faith the size of a "mustard seed" that what I'm jotting down is accurate but I beg to differ. How did I become this "black-sheep"? I ask myself all the time was it those permeable places in my brain where I indulged myself in the written works of Aristotle or Homer? Or was it those prodigious orators such as Martin Luther King Jr. and Sojourner Truth that I opened my mind to hearing what brain-food they offered to me. Then I paused and realized with great dismay its not books nor poems or great orators that I allowed myself to obtain over the years; but it is life's experiences that have brought me to this distinctive moment of query. The more In-depth I searched through my memory I realized the exact mission in life was revealed to me. When I think back to my struggle after my father left out of my life and my mother took care my younger sister and I. There were nights my mother didn't eat s o me and my sister would. The smell of poverty was...