Photo by Joshua Rawson-Harris
Poetry Written by Jacob Ibrag

They want to go outside and move around.

Barefoot among the elements. The dirtier the pavement the better.

Filth makes it feel real. Tired of their cleanliness.

It’s not that they want to be careless, it’s simply the option of having it.

This self made prison and its recycled air.

Homes incubating their residents ignorance.