Whenever I walk this cursed streets, I can't help myself to look around.
There’s evil in every corner.
This place looks so friendly, but it isn't.
A shooting.
Some kids under 18 drinking.
Those guys are driving their motorcycle like crazies.
A smell of something illegal that I've grown up with.
Broken families every where.
The violence that is hidden under dark.
This is the calmest part of it all.
I look around to find people losing themselves.
I find struggles.
A dog is barking.
Children are playing.
People fighting.
No child should grow up here.
But in a way, I still see beauty.
Somehow.
Maybe it's the grass that grows so beautifully green at summer.
Maybe it's the forest filled of life, not to far from here.
Maybe it's the trees with their green leaves, that rises above us all.
Maybe it's the way that everyone hates this place.
But in a way, we all love it.
Not for the grass, not for the forest, not for the trees.
It's because we're all broken.
And together, we somehow make this place work.
This place may be cursed, filled with violence and who knows what.
But it's true to itself.
Maybe I’ll forever be the black sheep.
But I will always feel the most home in my Dearly Beloved Bergsjön.
No matter where I go.
(Bergsjön = Ghetto area in the Swedish city, Gothenburg)
YOU ARE READING
~Poems~
PoetryI have always loved writing poems, so I'll post some of them here! Hope you'll like them!
