The nature in this city (poem)

I look for meaning
seeking patterns to
find how everything
might be a sequence
but things don’t dance
only nature does
and snow doesn’t
melt in patterns as it
masks the concrete
the parked cars
and cracked streets
and patchy apartments
with designated green
how is it possible
to live freely in
a place where one
cannot hear breeze
trembling the leaves
or be humbled by
the height of trees
I’ve never felt a
human because
of my natural
dislike for cities
I’ve felt better
than all the dwellers
who check weather
on screens before
opening curtains
I never needed
to learn photoshop
I was too busy
watching all the
things that are too
beautiful to be edited
but now I know
living in the concrete
playground for adults
that this reality is
worth escaping
when there are
no bright blossoms
to quiet the fear
of being grey
the desperation
for colour or
no soft grass
without shards
of sharp glass
it is not natural
to be free
to be naked
in nightclubs
and yet unable
to go barefoot
in parks.
Where is
the nature
in this city?

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