I try not to speak my mind when I'm in large crowds or small ones of my peers. Only when I am with a single other do I give myself the freedom to say aloud what is burning inside of my stomach. I get ignored easily and therefore try not to let them know what is happening in my head, for it would be a waste of excellence. Their ears are too small to hear anything other than the drama that consumes their small town lives. Small-town syndrome. Katie slept with Marcus. George and Martha broke up. Hannah is pregnant. The ongoing cult-like practice that is melodrama. Their single town lives being run by the counterfeit excitement. They are unlike the outside world, for they have disconnected themselves from. Living in a bubble rather than the vast difference that lays outside our borders.
It's alright, however, because I will always have the words that can reach the far ends of the Earth, breaching the walls of small-town life. The football players aren't making state and everyone is mad about the cheerleading drug tests. I sit and watch the chaos knowing so much more is happening just outside my life, and oh do I wish for a slice of it. I used to be moved every year, uprooted, but It was a refreshing blast of wanted mess. Other military children understanding the world in a different light. Seeing so many fads fade and different exotic people. I was the same until third grade. Third grade is when my life was forced straight into a small town scheme. It was new, for a time, and that I am thankful for, but I quickly became tired of the same people, the same drama, I don't wish to hear about how your cat had kittens again, and I don't want to see your grandmothers church sing on Sunday (no offense).
I will keep these words bottled until unleashed unto the world in paragraphs, in books, and with a punch of otherworldly flair. Until then, here I am. Let us try to push them into the real world.