It's spring in Bridgeport. This doesn't really much because there is too much concrete for flowers to grow
and the abandoned, decaying buildings
block out the sun.
But every once in awhile
a flower slips through the concrete
That one flower stands out more than it ever could
in a pretty,little garden behind the white picket fences
of the suburbs
Against all odds it fought it's way
through the cracks
In it's desolate environment
and bloomed
Roots grow when seeds crack
Flowers ( at least in this city ) bloom
when the concrete cracks
Beauty
in spite of
or perhaps
because of
the death and decay around it

It was a warm house in a cold place
Blankets of white cover the street making a bland wasteland
A beacon of warmth and comfort
My memories of those days are filled with smells I couldn’t remember if i tried
and people I couldn’t talk to if i tried
Maybe I could conjure them back for a moment if i tried
This is a cold house in a cold place
Blankets of white make this place look like every other place
We try in vain to making this place warm and comfortable but we can’t
because I realized the other day that I forgot those smells
and I realized that I could shout to the heavens or talk to your grave but you wouldn’t answer
but I’ll try my hardest until I can’t anymore and then I’ll try to remember one more time in vain
I’ll try to remember you for your warmth
I’ll try to remember you in the winter
I’ll try to remember you when it gets cold
and one day when I forget everything about you I’ll read this to try to remember you.