My body is the city.
My heart is the city.
My mind is the city.
My soul is the city.
Every face is mine
Every voice is mine
Give me your tired and poor
My poverty hunger and exhaustion is like a moth to New York's flame.
Birthed from me, they now create their own stories my place in their life growing ever smaller by nature's necessity.
I'm made redundant after a dedicated committed lifetime of motherhood.
Toughest job on the planet and the hardest to walk away from even though it's only the skeleton that remains.
Life is backwards. I'm only now growing up and seeing myself as an adult living my own life.
Shouldn't I have felt like that before venturing into motherhood?
Oh New York Reignite the me that is me!
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