A black and blue house,
cul de sac, childhood, white walled – prison.
Suburbs and grassy fields,
longing for escape.
Family histories settled in neat little gardens,
tall fences and long driveways,
a place to return for holidays and birthdays.
***
A small city,
planned and political,
a place for protests and presidents.
The beginning of a life,
business casual, happy hour, monthly paycheck – prison.
Graph paper streets and Lego buildings,
longing for escape.
Stability and reputation,
overtime and late nights,
401k mortgage material.
A good life for somebody else.
***
A country on the other side of the world,
strange languages and fermented foods,
skyscraper, overworked, new career – prison.
manmade forests and bustling industry,
longing for escape.
Comfort in foreign friends,
weekend trips and photographic evidence,
life depicted differently from reality.
Online updates from classmates getting married,
buying houses, having children, building homes.
While my bags are waiting,
legs fidgeting, wanderlust building.
***
Searching for feelings in scrolling scenery,
cities and friends passing by
in blurry windows and rushing wind.
Some of us were made for leaving,
living on backpacks and water bottles,
numb to the existence we’ve chosen.
No place to return for holidays and birthdays.
***
I found home once.
Tucked away in the mountains of some distant land.
Campsite, fire pit, bucket shower – freedom.
Surrounded by strangers
trying to find their own ways,
ambitious eyes focused on some distant horizon.
With these people,
I felt the most me I’ve ever been.
***
I’ve been searching for that feeling ever since,
losing myself in infinite sunrises,
picking up bits of me while I leave others behind.
I like to think it’s out there somewhere,
a feeling to called “home,”
a time to stop moving for a while.
A feeling of true belonging.
All inclusive, community driven, likeminded – living.
Of chasing skylines together,
sandy sweat and salted suntans.
Of swinging our legs and connecting with nothing but empty air.
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