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.