We All Hate You - Los Angeles
Broken, graceful, and oh so elusive.
It's a new home.
Tired bar maids dry scorched glasses with ripped towels and vacant eyes.
With that, the slient countdown for the bantered throngs to simmer down across the bars.
Off with you now lads.
Urban campers sweep the pizza shops. It's a broken poem stuck on repeat.
A room for one, please.
A room to be what you want for a minute. For a lifetime.
They recon a few years in Shakeytown might be what the doctor ordered.
Here we are. We will never be enough. But here we are. And we are wonderful.
Cooping with the chaos of LA.
Processing the world that is supposedly sculpted and perfected.
The world that has too many voices, too many personalities, and not enough structure.
This lonely island I float.
This abandoned part of the woods I scream.
So I had to make you a voice.
I had to pretend we knew each other.
I had to fake I knew my way around.
Dear LA, these are my voices for you, these are your people to me, and these are your neighborhoods.
It made me feel home.
He drove throughout the night and into the early morning. The darkness had shattered in slow-motion and the city started to move. He didn't know where he was going but it was towards something new and desperately pure.
She could recognize the moment someone became a part of her.
Then, the feeling of when a person left - they took a part of her with them. From there she would never be the same again.
The night sky would burn brighter. The sea would roar louder.
Her lungs would expand with a new sense of purpose and everything around her would change as if life was starting all over again. She wasn’t afraid. She was broken and beautiful.