Poems, Writing


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The incessant noise drills through my spirit.

It rattles the fragile structure of my psyche,

Cutting straight to my core.

All of this “improvement” only dismantles my safe space,

My one corner of quiet

In this hellish prison of consumerism.

The slick sidewalk blocks my escape,

And the sky pours pellets 

That threaten distress

And discomfort.

When will this all plateau?

When will things be “good enough”?

Skyscrapers go up,

While the citizens’ spirits sink,

Into the cracked asphalt 

And drown in the Seattle rain.

I am choking on concrete dust

And being slowly smothered by 


And the 12th Man. 

I remember when this city felt inviting

And full of wonder.

Maybe that was childhood fantasy,

But I’d take that over this reality 

Any day.

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