pieces of me
i am made up
of the city’s streetlights
and busy highways.
my commotion
is silenced by a small town’s
quiet voice.
my road map
was carefully crafted
by the hands
of a relentless worker
who has spent hours
noting every traffic light
and beat up road sign.
he calls himself,
the father of the storm.
every crack in the sidewalk
of this lonely old town
leads back to the city,
where my loudness is accepted
by my mother’s opened arms.
at night time,
when the city lights finally shine,
it reminds me of myself
of the days my confidence
takes the train
to my stop.
my mind,
is like the crowded city walk ways,
bursting with more than it’s bargained for,
carrying hundreds of unique stories.
the city in me
is loud, is hectic,
and unknown.
yet i get my tourists.
and many of them
call me a sight to see.