(also for a brown skinned realtor i thought was a friend)
for the record
raising the rent in my neighborhood IS right up there with talking bad about my mama
it’s personal
are you the one sweet talking folks and selling dreams at my expense?
don’t you know it took me 5 whole year to move back on my block?
don’t you know my bank account’s on “e” for empty trying to live closer to my family and friends?
you don’t care
rather have me miles from here in east new york
alone and lonely
out of place
a happy knitted thing disintegrated
i was safe
I was safe
bedstuy is MY briar patch
I was safe
you rose thorn clipping heathens
wouldn’t know a wild briar rose if it straight pierced you in the throat
too busy selling lies and pipe dreams to the over educated masses
you’d cough away the blood and keep on stepping
don’t you know I DON’T WANT FRESH DIRECT?
i like my black owned farmer’s market store
i like bodegas where they offer 5 cent mint balls
red and green and butter cream
i like my worn out laundromat
i like my raggedy garden-free roof
i like the parts where sidewalk concrete crumbles down
revealing earth beneath
this is a neighborhood for people
who talk to their neighbors
and smile at each other
and carry each others’ secrets
this is a place for living things
not condos full of people
who have come here
to imagine
what they want to be
and pretend here
together
it ain’t an “up and coming” anything
it ain’t a spot on the map
a potential investment
an untapped goldmine
a place for people to say they’ve “done the new york thing”
this ain’t the new york thing
this is brooklyn
bedstuy
do or die
black coffee from bodegas, beef patties, chinese takeout, and pizza
one coffee shop or two is cool, but you can take your thai food back
if that’s the price
i don’t need it
i need a home where people love me,
not judge me
by my job title,
my degree,
my front yard,
my bank account,
my imaginary fleeting assets
those things come and go so quickly
especially these days
i need a place to get away from new york city
don’t you spread that bullshit here
infectious like a drug
i need a place to lay my head in peace
to bear my children in peace
to grow old in peace
i need a place where i am more
than just the stuff of my ego’s imagination
i am a real thing with roots
i need to be
a real thing with roots
i need a place where i am loved,
despite my faults
you can’t sell that to them
they have it already
just don’t want to be there for whatever reason…
now they here destroying mine
you wouldn’t know a wild rose if it pierced you in the throat
or in the mind
or in the heart
i don’t want to be your facebook friend
no more
please leave me off your updates
i have flowers to attend to
