I am from

I am from a regular town full of regular people.
People satisfied with purely living life.
Sometimes I yearn for such simple desires
as a two car garage, a dog, a big television.

I am not special, yet feel unfulfilled.
I’m a wannabe gypsy, a transient
who fears the permanence of real life;
of matrimony, contracts, escrow.

But I have roots.
Roots that are deep and don’t want to be exposed.
Covered in the dirt of childhood,
of old friends, of young and aging family members alike.
I cannot just shake them off
and plant somewhere new.

I fear looking back with disappointment,
but it spares my tail from being between my legs again.
Still I search for the courage. A matter of
closed eyes, trust games, and gambles.

I take stock of where I’m from
knowing I will inevitably leave again.
Though I am inexorably tied
to its people, its weather, its street names.


But when I leave,
I learn that where I’m from
is where everyone else is from too.