I live in a small town.
Small town is stifling, suffocating, sickening.
Small town makes me want to be somewhere else.
Some days I want to go to New York.
Some days California.
Some days Boston and occasionally Seattle.
I want to live in a big city.
Big city has so many people that no one knows my name unless I tell them.
No one pretends to know me when in reality they only know of me;
And not even the me that I am now,
They know of a past me that no longer exists.
They know of the me that wanted nothing more than to please small town, to fit in with the other small towners.
But I don’t and I never will.
Because I was meant for more than small town.
And small town knows it.