Anchors To The Middle Of Nowhere

September 8, 2012
There is so much of the world that I haven’t seen yet,
So many faces and places and traces of things could’ve been mine
If I had just been born somewhere else,
If I had opened my eyes in a hospital in India,
Or France, or China, or Australia,
Or anywhere other than this small town in the middle of nowhere
That actually isn’t even big enough to get its own hospital,
But I didn’t, and I won’t,

And some nights I dream about running
And wake up halfway out the door with my shoes already on,
Pulse thrumming with the possibilities of what might happen
And the word adventure already on my lips,
And I just want to run,
I want my feet to pound the pavement to the beat of freedom,
Until my muscles scream in protest
But they cant scream louder then the voice in my head
Telling me go, go, go,
So I keep running until I find a sunrise that isn’t mine
And a town where no knows knows my name
Or my family, or my story, or my past,
And I’m finally free,

But I cant,
Because I have a family and friends
And my brother and sister are expecting me to make breakfast,
And I have to go to work in the morning,
And how else am I going to pay for college,
And my life stopped belonging to me a long time ago,
I don’t know how I got so many responsibilities
Or when I started growing anchors to the middle of nowhere,
But I do know that I can never fly south in the winter
With the rest of the birds,
And tonight I will dream of running





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