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Jul 2016
Do you think I could make it?

No one's watching me right now...
I'm outside and there aren't any guards

I don't even have to show up for another thirty minutes
No one would even think to look for me until then

I could just run off through the trees
And never come back

I could go on the road north
(Probably by hitchhiking)
And be in the international city
Where no one would find me

Why should I stay here?
My peers taunt me
And treat me like a contagion
Those in charge of us
Find me to be a troublemaker
And exclude me from groups for it
And I'm always bored with our work
I finish hours before the day is out

I could just leave this island
And never come back

....I could do it...

....they'd catch me
I can't get off of the base
Without climbing over razor-wire topped fences
Or swimming over open water fully clothed
And if I tried the gate
The gaurd would easily stop me

I could hide inside the complex
But when they've realized I've escaped
The military police will be called
And they will comb the base
Cornering me until I'm surrounded

I'm going to be released in one year, anyways.
I can make it one more year, can't I?

Can I?

I don't have another choice,
Unless someone were to help me
Sneak a sailboat into my escape route

Hold on, girl
It's only one more year

Wait, am I late for class?
I've got to get back
Before they notice that I'm gone
Sorry, this is more of a soliloquy than a poem.
This is basically an internal conversation that I had with myself every day in sixth grade.
I lived in Florida on a military base at the time, and I just hated school. The work was to easy and boring, the teachers had a hard time dealing with me and my behaivor when I acted up, and the other kids liked to pick on me. I was a teacher's assistant to another teacher durring study hall, and I had thirty minutes every day with nothing to do, as I had finished my job and lunch hadn't started yet. My school's hallways were outdoors, and there were no teachers watching in between classes, so every day in that thirty minutes of free time, I would stand in the hallway and fantasize about running away to Miami.
This poem/monologue were my thoughts in sixth grade.
Breeze-Mist
Written by
Breeze-Mist  19/F/North America
(19/F/North America)   
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