This goes out to the city that birthed me, pressured and hurried,
With grit and precision that almost swallowed me up.
Instead, this natal ambience fostered the whit and intuition
Needed to survive what life would throw at me.
Twenty five years ago, we lived a day intent on death and ushering in the final chapter of New York City’s brilliance.
Out of this fatal ambience, arose a stronger spirit, a tighter camaraderie, a bolder love.
With gut-wrenching grief, a deep roar burst forth from the hearts of us left behind.
Every moment after the tragedy steadily emboldened a legacy in us that we will not and cannot be defeated.
Resplendent in the knowledge that what was done knocked the wind out of our lungs and the scars remain but we will never surrender to hate.
Still to this day, New York City’s residents and children in the diaspora are the dopest, wildest, fiercest, most compassionate, most sarcastic, most confident, most resourceful and self-sufficient people in the world.
We don’t need anyone but we also turn no one away, embracing the weary as family.
The New Yorker is the jewel in every crown.
