maybe nowhere is home–
snow capped Korean mountains
and Bavarian cobblestones

I’ll never step foot on
and grey coloured tenements
on Madison street

and the rain that never
seemed to stop.
the thirty story buildings

on Wall Street
where my friends and i
didn’t belong

but there we were
smoking in the courtyard,
dodging rats, watching the wealth

go to delmonico’s
and the India club.
going home to Princeton

is a sort of psychic torture
A sort of psychic interference
the trees taunt me

they hurt my momentum.
they remind me of days spent tangled in sheets
and wanting to die

here for two years so far
my New York self says “so did I”
but it was different. It was different.

I am scared to no longer be sad.
It is losing a part of me that I know I’ve had
for as long as I’ve been alive.