A story of my city is not my first attempt to reflect upon my experiences in the city where I've lived almost all my life but it is the first that got away from me. In the end my anger, frustration and disappointment at what this growing metropolis embodies took over my pen.
A story of my city
This is the story of the city that raised me
oddly questing for meaning amongst its debris
so I’m just another reject, busy philosophizing
about the worth of stars while the rocks they
peddle underhanded laugh in silence that
sounds like money.
This is a story I have not forgotten of
broken bicycles and ugly mutts that stripped me clean,
my scars are funny, formed into a map of buildings
and city streets that rise and fall and circle round
to thumb their eye at us, is that why I see my
cousin’s blood after the highway'd sprayed it
from traffic light to traffic light?
This is a story I read aloud to my little niece,
her face in the midst of bawling, perhaps her
uncle’s voice took on a tone of violence?
Could you blame me? The sounds outside my
door are an ominous susurration that tells of
things to come while I’m only standing here
still waiting for the sun.
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