Culturally stunted, in a land peppered with historical buildings that are no more than evidence of suburban sprawl spanning multiple continents for nations unhappy with owning only local real estate, even at the expense of destroying whatever was and should be rich about the people and the lands they arrived at so that they may have someone to suck their teeth at.
If I sometimes look in the mirror and feel disconnected and underdeveloped and out of place, where am I to turn? I am nothing more than a flower bent before it could blossom, a foetus aborted before it could mature, an idiot without its village.
I wish I knew which village you were, as I would simply return to you.
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