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.