Young Writers Society

I thought I'd be traveling the world

At the age of 17

San Francisco, Manhattan, Colorado, Rome, France

Escaping my woes and living on dollar bills

and copper coins filling jars labeled

with the years I would travel

and the destinations I had in mind.

...

I thought my hair would be long

and they'd call me Free Spirit

I'd experiment with drugs and people

and those Unknown wouldn't understand my life

talking and learning and breathing and loving

They'd say I was wasting it

A juvenile, a delinquent.

...

They'd question my age

But I'd laugh and I'd squeal

And spend my time with those who didn't care

I'd call that place home

Until they started to take an interest in me

The parties would start dwindling

I'd flee.

...

I'd point on the map

Roadtrip there for days

Buy food at twenty-four hour diners

with the coins from pocket-change

I'd live on coffee and cigarettes

And the waitresses would look concerned

ask if I want to call home

But would walk away after I said no.

...

I thought I'd be a hopeless cause

Meandering the country, at least

I would be in a living dream

Reality would escape me

And I would escape it

In a broken down car and a trunk full of dirty clothes

...

I thought I'd go to a laundromat

Get advice from the drifters there

Who watch the machines spin for hours

until everyone leaves

and they can create beds out of chairs

The room warm from the dryers.

...

I'd thought I'd go to the coast

Drown my regrets in the sea

Where the wind carries the sand

and maybe carry me back home

...

But by then I'd be so dazzled

From the places I'd have been

I wouldn't remember the end, the start, where did I begin?

And then I'd be a truly hopeless wanderer

And my soul would be lost

But I'd open up another pack of cigarettes

Nowhere is the Where I belong.