I live in one of the most expensive cities. Lots of people, diversity, culture. The greatest city within the the greatest country I was told.
Life took an unexpected toll and I realized I have no city, no home, a lost culture I never seen before nor can I identify.
I was just born here, given a sloppy title because I no longer had a name, just for it to double as an insult.
The illusion of human rights and and the possibility of a dream made me dislike what could have been a home.
However, too much time has passed and that is not my home either.
I linger between identities and the glue doesn't quite hold on to me.
I am homeless indeed.
And I just learned the truth of what my existence means.
Maybe I always knew.