Every morning I walk past the abandoned subway station, and it feels like my own unfinished draft, a concrete canvas that refuses to accept my edits. I’m tired of polishing lines that never hit the mark; the street keeps echoing the same criticism as a broken beat. If ambition were a skyscraper, mine would be an honest, crooked tower, not a flawless glass façade that never gets built. My brain’s stuck in a loop of overanalysis, turning each rhyme into a maze of dead ends. Still, I’ll keep sketching the skyline with a pen that’s louder than my doubts. #streetpoet #imperfection 😤