Unknown Story
Kuvakäsikirjoitus Teksti
- New York CityMaybe it's another New York Citythe southerners talk about. Maybe that's where there is no money falling from the sky, the sidewalks.Here there is only gray rock, cold and treeless as bad dream. Who could love this place-where no pine tress grow, no porch swing moves with the weight of your grandmother.This place is a Greyhound bus humming through the night then letting out a deep breath inside a place called Port Authority. This pace is a driver yelling New York City, last stop.Everybody off.This place is loud and strange.and nowhere I'm ever going to call home.
- I selected this poem because when I was adopted me I moved to a city that I didn't know very well. I thought this place was horrible, bad, and I didn't want to live here because of things that were difference. The place where I lived was peace and quiet and while at here it was noise and not peace. I missed seeing the little kids at my home town and here It's hard to remember the things I did when I was there with them. I missed the pool and the birthday things they did and their would always be a costume guy dressed up in something that I didn't know.
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