Transition

 

I was raised in a town where everyone was the same shade of unaccepting and indifferent.

Every person was the same wash of “keep quiet”, “don’t talk back”, and “you’ll never make it”.

In a town so close-knit,

When you’re inside,

it is warm and inviting,

But looking in from the outside,

the small-town politics nip at your nose,

the chilly winds of loneliness cut through your skin,

And at the end of each day,

you’re exhausted

from trying to appease others’ perception of success.

 

So I stopped.

 

I escaped.

 

To prove to myself

I can be heard.

I can be valued.

And I can make it.

 

And I did.

 

One-thousand two-hundred twenty-two miles from town.

I found my voice.

I realized my value.

I made it.

 

I am home.

 

 

This poem is about: 
Me
My community

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