Self-Portraits

Self-portrait 26.53

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The big city mists from the sky, sideways and, stuck to my knees, slickly steals the small parts of me that don’t want to work anymore.
I have hope that it’ll all go smoothly but this black brick wall hangs over my head like a leech and I can’t shake it,
probably because I don’t want to.
What tends to define me are the intricacies that bother and baffle you;
the quiet parts of the morning that leave you lonely and alone.
I am big like this place and you see it too sometimes.
I am here to gain ground, to slip between the sidewalk cracks, to call my father names.
The big city mists from the sky, and I walk sideways and steal small parts of it, storing them in pockets of peril for a little rainy day.

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