flightless bird, monster trees

I've got a serious case of homesickness 

that is, I'm sick of home

and sick of you

these mountains don't feel like a playground anymore

they feel like a prison 

the neighbors are faceless and the cars are just specks

blurred together

like one of those "abstract" paintings that's really just a bunch of smudges.

this town is a fish tank

too small for the dreams held within my mind

and I'm the little girl waiting in the doctor's office,

sucking on a lolly,

the stars painting constellations in my head

and the moon is made of cheese.

 

on those 5am jogs

the dusky pink sunrise my only companion

the sweat gathers on my skin like angry lava

burning and burning and burning

but when I look down, the edges of my clothes aren't seared

my skin isn't charred

and when I look up, I see the same sun.

fake is in the water here,

and I'm afraid it's permeated my bloodstream

now my smile is made of silicon

and my heart is made of plastic

(at least it can't be broken now)

give me taxis and grime and shoe-box apartments

give me chaos and confusion and opportunity

give me the world in a city

and I'll take it for my keeping

and in return,

you can have the small town gossip

you can have the judgmental glares on Sunday mornings

you can have the guy at age 19.

trust me, I won't lose any sleep over it.

the trees have never looked so much like monsters 

but the sky has never been so blue

and I'm a flightless bird

chained to the ground

a hiker passes

"why don't you fly?" he asks, 

gesturing towards heaven

and while the forest floor may be beautiful

it's never felt more like hell

a sparrow takes flight

"wait for me," I murmur.

these mountains are a prison but my sentence isn't forever

this isn't home

but it's out there waiting for me

page blank, waiting to be written

my pencils are sharpened and ready to go

and my heart is too.

so, I'll see you soon.

maybe I'll send a postcard.