Well written. You have a talent. I hope you won't drop it in the future.
I like to believe that Jesus lives in a storm drain, right off one of the main roads that runs through my city besides a cute little stream and park just like the infamous 'It'. I also like to believe that he has long hair, brown in color and matted; almost as if he took one look at a roadrunner's nest and decided that he too wanted to shelter the innocence of a new life. He came to me, my Jesus on a chilly autumn night six feet ahead of me and to the right. I didn't notice him at first, almost as if he rose from the ground like the cold mist that swirled around my feet in winter. My Jesus wore Jordans that stuck out like red thumbs against the new age hipster pants that sagged around his waist, inching closer and closer to a revelation that mother Mary would sure be ashamed of. I was on my way home from work that day, I taught Sunday school ironically enough, and while many lessons had always told us that Jesus was a Jewish man of color, I now grew the knowledge of this not being true. You see my Jesus was as white as light with dark circles under his eyes so deep in color they looked as if they were painted there every morning in resemblance of late night drinking with very little sleep. He had bruises all over his arms and his wrists and I knew what that meant. I saw needles hang from his pockets, and he walked with a hidden limp, two fingers grinding the butt of a cigarette into dust. But I knew he was my Jesus because as soon as I turned around to get a closer look, he had disappeared. Vanished, into thin air that only someone with immense power could do.
Hi there myjaspercat! Looks like this lovely poem is still in the Green Room, so I'm going to get it out of there and earn my fourth red star. 
First stanza is nice, but I think Pennywise is the name of the clown, not "It".
I like the imagery in the second stanza, but ending a line on "the" is weak, so I would end on "shelter".
He came to me, my Jesus on a chilly autumn night
six feet ahead of me and to the right. I didn't notice him at
first, almost as if he rose from the ground like the cold mist
that swirled around my feet in winter.
inching closer and closer to a revelation that mother Mary
would sure be ashamed of.
I was on my way home from work that day,
I taught Sunday school ironically enough, and while
many lessons had always told us that Jesus was a Jewish
man of color, I now grew the knowledge of this not being true.
Hello, Anne here to leave a review on this wonderful review day! First of all, I really loved this poem. My facorite part was where you said Jesus in Jordans.
I feel like you could have included a little more background and detail in the imagery. How did Jesuss end up here, how was the speaker sure that it was him? Little stuff likd that makes for a good poem!
As for grammar, I did not see any errors, nothing sith your spelling either. That does not mean that further revisions would be unneedd though.
Thank you for the wonderful poem on here :3 I hope to read more of your work! Have a wonderful day, and try to write something happy 
- Anne
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