I admit to being a true Native
who praises thee and fights
that my Southside is better
than any Westside...
in hopes to cope with
both sides
that each hold trashed land
brown grass and brown skin
left to be trashed:
A simple fight we fight selfishly
to prove ourselves through
a learned helplessness
our mothers have taught us
when they ran to suburbia.
Don't abandon me or blow
sheets of your incurable
gentrification leaving me to
social suicide,
windy city.
Your smudge filled cracked corners
scream for my homecoming, the
hypocrisy in your cost draws me near, your
prices are something
I am willing to pay.
Chicago please love me
my urban paradox
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1 comment:
though this may not be finished I love it, its sick
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