Your hometown is not so bad as
you make it out to be – after all,
it produced you, who rages at
injustice and hate but who sees too
the beauty of the bayous – the way
the moss flows from the trees gently,
even the sun sinking into the algae.
You, poor girl, who refuses to look
in the mirror from disgust of the same
features you praise on bodies not your own,
why this instinctual hatred for the only
places you have ever known as home?
Some day you will be brave enough
to roam, you may lay claim to new and
exciting spaces, but no matter how far
you run, the music in you will always
sing and sway to the rhythm of the
land you sprang from.
For All Story Lovers! 