Grand Prairie in Texas

I am Texas, and this is Grand Prairie a place where the sun doesnt just rise, it blazes, a relentless god hanging high above the concrete and chrome, casting long, sharp shadows that stretch like the fingers of a weary man. I am the silence between the horns of trucks idling in the lot, the metallic groan of a cranes arm poised like a tired sentinel, the faint hum of engines that never quite die. The asphalt breathes under the weight of this heat, a cracked skin over a land that never truly rests. I am the stark, endless blue not a sky, but a wound, healed by the sun, forever watching. The parking lot is my cathedral a congregation of white vans and black pickups, parked like the faithful in a place that doesnt need worship, only survival. I am the fences that stretch too far, the wires that whisper of a world beyond, and the distant horizon that refuses to bend. I am Grand Prairie not a town, but a feeling. A place where the sky is too big, the sun too bright, and the silence too loud. I am the wind that doesnt whistle, but sighs. I am the dust that doesnt settle, but lingers. I am the Texas that doesnt cry it just stands, sunburned and strong, under the blazing light, waiting for the next truck to arrive, the next crane to lift, the next soul to pass through and I am already here, watching, waiting, wondering if anyone will ever look up and see me.

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