Poem five

 I love my city. 
with all of its depression and gray skies

it’s lake that rumbles thunder in the month of March.

I Love the downtrodden that make it up…in my city we make it up because the odds are stacked against us and our crumbling economy.

my city runs deep with crime and riots and corrupt politics and bad weather reports and fake smiles and plastic hugs and loyal friends and sometime family and fake cousins and affairs on spouses and make shift churches and abandoned streets and displaced mental health patients and unsolved murders and racism and segregation and food stamps and set you ups and take your money and don’t move and hands up and face down and heroin dealers and crack users and prostitutes and pride and we gonna make it

we always make it

in spite of cold cases unsolved murders

in spite of false hope and promises

We survive

like a loner on a raft stuck in the Atlantic Ocean we make it to shore

and we dry off

and we smile

and do it all again. 

we survive. 

Tell that story. 

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About monalisasrandomthoughts

I craft people poems. I laugh out-loud. I love all things. Everything is about order. My movements are chess. Everything to me calculates. I just look like this.
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