Realization.
That I don’t belong,
here in the town
          with these people.

I used to dread the thought of leaving,
I used to not be able to let go.
But now,
I don’t care.
I’ll leave
          anyday
               anytime.

They won't care,
none of them will.
Maybe a “bye, I'll miss you”
       or a “come visit soon”
                here and there.

But soon I'll fade from their minds,
and they'll forget about me.
Like I was never even here.
But I don't care.

Realization.
Of how much
I hate this town
          and these people.

Realization.
That they don't care about me
                        never did
                        never will.

If I leave,
or if I stay.
So maybe I'll go,
        to Boston,
                or New York
                        or Tennessee
                                or even California.
                                                                        
    
                                                                  j.z.