the above is ojibwe for "gray" or "fade" city, to my best efforts
she laughs when i say i want to leave
this might be the city of my birth
but it was never mine by any standards
i hate this city.
i hate the dreary rainy days
i hate the wet winters
i hate the rude pedestrians
i hate the startling weight of it.
maybe because every time i tried to speak,
this place told me to sit down and shut up.
it was never my home, so i guess i don't
quite understand why you think it's yours.
i realize that you will probably never leave,
dear Make-Up Criminal, and you will spend
the remainder of your days in this miserable city.
to some, it might seem to be nice and exciting.
but i can only see the bad parts, the cigarette butts
and those who shove on the subway.
this place kept me to the confines of my bones
and as soon as i get the chance, i am leaving
far, far away until i can't see the skyscrapers anymore
i wish i could say that i could learn to love this city
but i can only feel unabashed hatred for it
so to the home that was never really home:
you may grow and reach cold roots out,
but as soon as i am gone, i will never return.