The first mile away from home is the longest.

November 13, 2013
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How do you love the hand
that touches your heart, and then rips
it out of your chest still beating?
That writes you love letters in the
ink of your own blood?

I am running from my hometown,
terrified that I will die here.

I want nothing to do with this place
that has made me everything I am.
I am done trying to lose myself in a city
that holds me so tight, I can’t breathe.

This city that tells me I am nothing outside of it,
this city that claims me for its own,
this city that will never let me go.

I want to swallow my name until
it forgets where it came from.
I want to belong to myself again,
I want a room with a different view.

So I am speeding down the interstate.
Everything familiar disappearing in my
rear-view mirror, I am racing towards the
next town that will take me into its arms.

Home is just a memory,
a wavering mirage on the horizon.
I’m going, I’m gone, I’m not looking back.

I am chasing a place that will love me
but never keep me from leaving,
not even knowing if I have
enough gas to get there.

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