Big City, Bright Lights

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Living,
breathing art form, I am
a sculpture of divine light,
flattering shadows and
constantly updated ambitions
silhouetted against
not-so-common sense
nine to five
the daily grind
a carbon copy in the ant heap
falling in line wherever
order is applicable
body of a woman
in subdued hues
of corporate costume
starched and tailored rags
befitting the common slave
of a capitalist mindset
face of conformity

but do not judge me
by the cover

I’m a stilettoed socialist
strutting her talent
amid these temples erected
to worship money
if you know enough
of the world
you can crack
the cipher
of my swagger
I have my own agenda
I’m not lost
I’m a fashionable vermin
who knows her way around
these tow-away zones
one-way streets and
orthopedic bus stops
I’m a gambling addict
wherever the stakes matter
and have cast my lot
on a future
that outshines
these bright lights
and a soul
of enough magnitude
to not let this big city
define me

and you can’t give me enough
elevator rides
as to convince me that
people are meant to
be boxed and move
in one direction alone

and you can’t make me
cross streets through
underground tunnels too often
as to make me stop
juxtaposing myself
and the other pedestrians
with the archetype of
warriors of a Resistance
emerging into the sun

and no matter how many
metal detectors you
very politely force me
to walk through
I’ll never forget that
I’m concealing a weapon
that you can’t see
unless you truly,
deeply know me.
.

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