I Say Fly

When asked to write where I'm from.

I'm from nowhere. Little towns with no people that I care for except those who want to get out just as much as me. Where Winter is the longest season and all people do is complain about it.

You should've asked me where I'm going. I would have told you that every major city in this world will someday have my footprints carved gently into their streets and hearts. And that people will read my articles in The New York Times and think, Hey, that's the girl from Vermont! And I'll tell them I don't need my past to tell me who I'm going to be.

I'll turn everything into perfection. I'll prove everyone's perfect and that flawless is the complete opposite of that. Everyone will argue with me. But that's okay; I'm very convincing and even though I contradict myself with every word, I know I make sense. But things don't need to make sense to be true.

And soon I'll forget that I spent one too many Saturday nights writing poetry and staring out my window into trees and nothing else, only wishing they would morph into buildings and city skylines. Why does it matter where I'm from? My roots only hold me down anyway.