A Poem For My Hometown

where you grow up will not always be your home.

your bedroom with posters of your favourite bands on the wall, glow in the dark stars that would always fall, faded echo’s of late night bawls, brawls with your own mind; forever yours to recall.

the memory of your first way out of tune ukulele strums, left over crumbs from inspiration, illustrations and creations scattered all over your bedroom floor.

where you grow up will not always be your home.

the five-minute walk to your elementary school – three minutes if you were late – will be nothing but an old memory and memories fade.

the hidden gate in the bushes that you always used as a shortcut, now overgrown and shut like your memories, because memories decay, tucked away somewhere in the back of your brain and once again I would like to say;

where you grow up will not always be your home.

your old highschool gave you some of the most cruel memories, but memories are memories and one day you will cherish the thought of spending your lunch breaks alone in a bathroom stall, being pushed away in the hall, and getting picked last for basketball, baseball and football.

but I’m just being dramatic, not all of it was tragic; free periods spent drinking bubble tea with friends only extend the good memories, and somewhere, deep down, there lays great power in being a wallflower. hence the word is now visible, for everyone to see, in the bathroom stall in which you always ate your lunch.

where you grow up will not always be your home.

it’s exciting to leave behind the place in which you once lost your mind. but would you be so kind; don’t ever forget what you’re leaving behind.

– for my hometown

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This Is A Line

this is a line and this line is mine.

you will find that this line can divide

the kind and not so kind side of your mind.

this is a line and this line is mine.

you will find that on the unkind side of your mind

the light is very far behind.

you will also find that on this side of your mind

you are blind and unrefined.

undermined by that unkind side of your mind.

you will fall behind. out of sight. out of mind. unaligned.

but do I need to remind you

that even the blind, the unrefined, the unaligned, have a kinder side to their mind?

this is a line and this line is mine.

you will find that on the kind side of your mind

you are still unrefined and unaligned.

but now you will find that on this side of your mind

there is still some light left behind.

now it is time to redefine.

not this side or that side.

not kind or unkind.

just, your mind.

this is a line and this line is mine.

you will find that this line

is merely a sign of the human kind.

nothing more than a concept from the mind

to define what is inside.

this is a line and this line is mine.

you will find that my feet and my spine are not on either side of the line.

they are in fact on the line.

because I am not defined by the two sides of my mind.

instead I will combine the kind and the unkind

to create one mind.

you will find that when you combine the sides,

you are not assigned to either side of your mind.

you are in fact a free mind.

unrefined.

unaligned.

undefined

and unfeigned.

– A poem inspired by another poem