Author's note: I never write poetry lol. There's no technical skill here. I wrote this on my phone last fall while walking to work. Haven't edited it or looked it over. Just want to be more authentic than ever with this kind of stuff.

I'm walking down
Uneven streets and stained sidewalks
In worn out shoes;
Headphones in my ears and coffee in my hands.
It's lukewarm.

The coffee, that is.
Though the weather isn't much sweeter.

It's oddly quiet,
The town not yet awake. There's no cars rushing by
Nothing adding to the toxicity in the air.
I say toxicity,
But I don't mean fumes from automobiles.

It's the atmosphere.
Heaviness in this place called home.

Fresh graffiti marks
Railroad overpasses and private fences,
Concrete walls marred with imperfections.
I like art and expression
But they're using it as a weapon.

They want us to fear them.
I just ignore them.

I remember when
We would worry about dandelions in the yard
Now we gotta worry bout
Junkies in the bathroom, needles in the park
Burglarized houses, stolen cars.

I shiver.
It's the chill in the air this time of year.

And I wonder
If there's a solution to these problems,
What's really caused them?
What direction is this place headed,
And what path am I treading?

Uneven streets, stained sidewalks
Worn out shoes and lukewarm coffee:
My companions on this journey,
Traveling with me
To that unknown destination.