Broken is Subjective

I am broken.

This is what I hear people say about me as they pass by.

I, on the other hand, do not feel broken.

I feel more alive now than when first laid on the ground

by the men in their Carhart work pants, fluorescent vests, and their work boots.

Whistling at the attractive woman on the street passing by.

I am now free to move, to breathe, to grow and evolve with the earth which lay beneath me.

In the spring vegetation grows through the gaps running along me.

Someone comes along with chemicals to kill it. 

Foreshadowing what is to come.

Most people do not see me, some do.

Those who say I am a danger to the world.

Labeled as the sign of deterioration to “their” neighborhood.

I am covered with cement and smoothed. 

Time and time again.

Adolescents dig their initials into the wet surface and laugh as they run away.

The next deep breath the earth takes I expose myself to the world.

The crooked jagged line running across a grey slab.

Foot soles are my attackers.

Here I sit in all my glory.

A crack in the sidewalk.

Eventually, someone will trip and point their menacing finger in my direction. 

I will be torn from my home and replaced with a younger version.

They will call it maintenance.

I will call it death.

Until that time, I sit here as you pass over me.

There is nothing more to say.

The above is not a science article. I am sorry to disappoint any of the 3 people who might read this. The fact of the matter is I am taking a creative writing course at Rutgers this semester, along a Storytelling with Data writing class. since I am pretty busy as of late, I have decided to start posting my creative writing assignments on my blog for a while. I am enjoying the challenge of the assignments. I wrote the above persona poem as a broken section of sidewalk. I once did a monologue as a can of corn… that might be posted as well if I get really desperate. I hope you enjoy the next few months of writing samples I release.

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