The cracks in the sidewalk

When I was young I would avoid the crack in the sidewalk

I used to think I had OCD… My need to not step on cracks in sidewalks consumed me.

I hated walking with people, afraid that they would bump me and I would accidently step on a crack

These people made me aware that these cracks were not just cracks but they were something more.

The cracks were a broken part of a permanent system

As I got older I had to force myself to step on the cracks

No longer were the cracks the broken parts I humored myself to ignore

They were real and I had to muster the strength to look away from it as I trodded on it

Had to shut out the screams with the sole of my shoes

I brushed off the broken and said it was part of life

Maturity was stepping on the broken things and boasting of growing up

I was learning how to step on the cracks without fear

Sometimes the cracks annoyed me so I practiced filling them with dirt

I did my part and tried to fill the broken

But the rain came and took away the “strength” I had given

The dirt was washed out and the rain which I had mistaken for a storm was actually tears

I did not fix the broken. I only covered it

I used to wish that people who made the sidewalks would just fill in the cracks

Why couldn’t they come up with solid and permanent materials to fill in the cracks

Why did I have to feel guilty about ignoring these cracks or having to fix them myself with mediocre dirt

You see the thing about cracks in the sidewalks is that they are stubborn.

Where we get rid of one another will appear

“Step on a crack, break your mothers back”

Because when you ignore the broken it will only continue to build until the burden is to heavy and it will snap

And you will just say it’s a stupid nursery rhyme

But the cracks are real. The broken is real

When we are young we don’t want to step on the cracks because when we are young we are decent human beings

But those young children grow up into us.

Into us who ignore the cracks. Who step on the cracks. Who ask someone else to fix the problem and complain about the ugliness of the broken

When the cracks start growing flowers in the place of the broken we are so quick to pull them out, complaining of weeds

We argue that the crack wasn’t supposed to be there in the first place, so why wouldn’t we pull out the weeds

We only see beauty when it comes out of something beautiful not something broken and desolate.

Something that wasn’t meant to be there in the first place

Something that ruins that view of the smooth and perfect cement that we constructed long ago

Something we placed over the bones of the lives we have massacred in the name of civilization

We contribute to the problem because we don’t want it to believe it exists in the first place

Maybe if we stopped trying to fix everything so quickly or just be so quick to ignore the problem we would have some progress

Recently, I have stopped stepping on the cracks.

I stop trying to fix them

Because the cement wasn’t meant to be there in the first place so how the hell can I complain when it breaks

I water the flowers I see in the cracks

I hope that the beauty of nature will come and fix the man-made block of nothingness that we walk on

I hope that the broken will heal itself by shedding the ugly cement

I hope that one day the cracks will not be the “broken” but instead seen as the natural view of the world

I hope that one day we will no longer be able to hide ourselves

I hope that we realize that when we are broken

We become the most real

This poem is about: 
Our world


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