I walk along these cracked streets
Taking in every crevice, every patch
And cannot help but admire
its character throughout time.

By night, the rain fills in the openings between the asphalt
By day, the sun rises and the water fades away,
And I cannot help but understand
that this cracked street and I have a lot in common
as I look inward and consider
all of the cracks
in my own being.

Some nights, the tears flow, mingling betwixt the cracks
in my heart and soul
flowing without direction.
Most days, the sun rises
and by that point everything within has dried.
There's no real point in fixing me,
because like the road that I walk upon,
there are simply too many cracks for people to pave.

It's not a particularly bad thing,
I've just accepted it and continued on.
After all,
I admire this old street for its character,
and so too must others do for me.