"Cracks. I grew through the cracks on concrete
breaking the asphalt violently
with those pointy bones I have
A child of grey town factory, the gut of Rrr-country, I thrived
wandering through urban swamps,
patches of forest eaten by housing projects;
abandoned construction sites were my playground.
trashed school maps uncovered their blank bellies swollen from the melting snow.
I foraged and dried them to scribble my itineraries
spared of visas, green cards and borders.
I wanted to go far far away. And then come back, and then leave again.
I named the blank countries and their residents using the street sounds that rang both familiar and foreign.
I drew palaces for feral cats and toothless homeless hungry babushkas in the middle of the continents
I gave my countries the happy communism
not the bleak and pathetic regime my country had.
everyone had plenty, everyone was equal, everyone was a queen there. Even me.
The cracks i grew through stretched into holes big enough to pull the whole caravan.
Cracks. They still are stretching."