I was sitting in English today reading A Doll's House (Henrik Ibsen)
listening to two high school boys read someone's hard work
(And supposed literary masterpiece)
in ridiculous accents and halting stutters
and I found myself thinking,
maybe for the billionth time,
that I could be anywhere at that moment.
I could be in San Diego, San Francisco,
Bangladesh, Romania.
I felt so tired, with the knowledge of this freedom
A freedom I still can't touch.
But I will.
I walked outside and sat down on the stairs,
shivering, not rebelling,
simply studying the mountains on the horizon
with the passion of a prisoner in a cage looking at the keys.
I could walk into the hills
and maybe someone would think I was dead
or kidnapped,
and it would be very selfish,
but sometimes a person needs to be selfish to find themselves.
Just not yet.
Christ, the future's so sweet on my tongue.
I can already taste it, but it's still so far.
listening to two high school boys read someone's hard work
(And supposed literary masterpiece)
in ridiculous accents and halting stutters
and I found myself thinking,
maybe for the billionth time,
that I could be anywhere at that moment.
I could be in San Diego, San Francisco,
Bangladesh, Romania.
I felt so tired, with the knowledge of this freedom
A freedom I still can't touch.
But I will.
I walked outside and sat down on the stairs,
shivering, not rebelling,
simply studying the mountains on the horizon
with the passion of a prisoner in a cage looking at the keys.
I could walk into the hills
and maybe someone would think I was dead
or kidnapped,
and it would be very selfish,
but sometimes a person needs to be selfish to find themselves.
Just not yet.
Christ, the future's so sweet on my tongue.
I can already taste it, but it's still so far.
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