New York

I tell you I don’t like New York
and you reply in disgust Why?
I always say it brings back memories; It’s lonely
But how could I tell you that night,
the emptiness it brought me
Hopelessness.
Central Park was begging for warmth.
The SoHo to be listened,
Chinatown to be looked after,
Midtown to be at peace.
How could I tell you that night
I’ve never been one of the cool kids
like you are in your art and music
and art deco studios,
while I pace through the room
in my Bardot neckline dress.
We talk about the jazzy bars in New York,
the street art, the lonely painters
the air it once breath,
the revolution inside.
You tell me I’m cool,
I’m not cool, I empathise
You tell me I have a style,
I’ll just tell you it’s mine.
You ask me if I would go back
to New York
and yes, I would
because I have now found
Warmth and peace
in me.