Sophia Katramadakis
Heels scraping the ground like nails on a chalkboard.
Slowly wearing down faster and faster.
Their whole existence strapped to their back, weighing them down till they fall.
Welcome to Vancouver,
A city of hope, life and freedom.
A place where trees dance and mountains hug the waters like a silver crown,
Glistening after ever snowfall.
Gastown an area for the rich, luxury brands lining the streets like fine lace on your grandmother’s table cloth.
Laughter echoing through buildings, as blush Rose drips like diamonds across crystal glasses.
The eager bourgeoisie weighed down by shopping bags and thick wallets.
So much joy contained in such a small area.
The loud clock screams like a kettle.
Startling the prosperous “selfie” takers, and “instagramers”.
Though the piercing noise is a mask, hiding the wails and cries of their neighbours.
The tumour of the city.
The horrid melanoma spreading like fire across Vancouver.
City blocks, flooded with accepted misfortune and pain.
Messages of hope, loss and agony are permanently graffitied in the alleyways,
Adding a bright splash of colour in an otherwise black and white world.
Desperation pours out of withered faces, and onto the diminished concrete,
Where they continue to lie.
Cold,
motionless,
Like entombed corpses at the foot of Pompeii.
Wrapped in threadbare flannels, and discarded douves.
Needles line the ground like dust on an old bookshelf.
Yet there's no vaccine for the bitter reality.
No cure for the human to human disconnect.
No medicine to fight the fact that we are facing a homeless epidemic.
That we’re letting age and fester,
Like forgotten leftovers sitting in your fridge.
That we’re pushing away,
Like a child’s unwanted vegetables.
Though what’s even more disturbing than the frail bodies, and punctured arms,
Is the world between the designer patterns and torn cardigans.
The botox fillers, lifts, and the dirty used needles laying on the pavement.
The ivory veneers and the crooked yellow teeth.
The gold platters and soup kitchens.
The dancing frescos and sopping tarps.
The cries for attention and cries for help.
The selfie sticks and stolen shopping carts.
The rich.
You go to Soulcycle to get thin yet there's no soul within.
Paying money to get thigh gaps and goal weights.
While your neighbours on the street get slender through starvation and addiction.
You preach that you care.
That you #worldlove,
But you don’t.
They say home is where the heart is but what happens if there's no home.
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