The Most Hopeless Case of Planned Escape
“In the end, it does not really matter where we are.”
I lied to myself as I scold the bangs of my hair which grew faster than it should. A dewy drop of sweat from my undone work comes off, splashing the creaky floor that is made out of wood.
My eyes focused on a blue computer screen. My two hands give signs of suffering. My throat thirsting more than just a glass of water. I speak slowly to myself….”It’s okay to be here.” I squinted as I say those words. Why would I squint if it wasn’t a truthful lie?
Let’s remember them again…
plane tickets and revenge plans
on former bullies, sneaky neighbors, and harmful classmates
current bullies of one’s push-through programs, including myself, is the star of a voyage plan
to go to a place which, in my mind, could erase at least half of my sorrow.
images so vivid, they make me learn languages. They gave me hope.
a promise of a far, long journey to a strange land.
where the people can’t be burned enough by the sun to be tan.
a journey to a land in which everything seems better altogether. more neatly. less harmful. More educated, it seems- but that, now, sounds like another lie I’ve told myself too many times.
what is the proof that I am good enough to go there if by now I haven’t gone 10 miles from when I was born?
A dream so sweet, but as spiteful as an escape plan.
Now has gone away
I wait and wait.
in this creaky old room where the woods are rusting
standing strong from earthquakes and tantrums.
I accepted the fact that, in the end, where we are does matter. I still want to go somewhere far from here and escape this region i know too well— the place that grew me one and a half feet, but broke me a billion times.
