my home town
i can’t explain the guilt of growing up.
getting a job in a different town.
finding a girlfriend who lives in a different town. knowing my mum struggles more than i could have ever dreamed of when i was a kid.
when i shut my front door and put my keys in the ignition, i reach the roundabout and i join onto the bridge.
the bridge that was once so bitter, now so bittersweet.
i leave behind my sister, she won’t be 17 forever.
i leave my mum alone.
i leave my little brother and sister.
they won’t be little forever.
i feel guilty for the relief of driving away.
i come back, every time.
but there will be a day where i don’t.
growing up is a lot like slowly losing faith.
i don’t believe in santa anymore,
i don’t believe in god.
i don’t believe in my father either.
i sat at my back door writing this, smoking a cigarette. there was no wind.
everything was still.
i was listening to my favourite song about growing up; i’m emotional today.
it talked about leaving home and the back door swung open.
no wind.
no gust.
everything is still.
i think it was a sign that i’m allowed to leave.
but i think part of me will always be imbedded in these walls.
i so desperately want to leave, but i fear my home town will never leave me.
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