February 20, 2019

I roam, always looking over my shoulder,

Remembering who I was, where I’ve been.

Too long I’ve spent with eyes cast back,

My focus on who I’ve been,

Not who I am.

My past does not define me,

Rather, it defines who I’m not.

That town,

That beast of burden, of judgement;

That house,

That felt like a haven on the best of days,

And a cell on the worst;

That school,

With suffocating walls and hopeless dreams;

Those peers,

Playing the game of who’s who,

Laughing, sneering at those who are nothing;

It is my cage no longer.

I am who I am, not because of it,

But in spite of it.

It was my home once.

No more.

I make my own home.

I am free.

I am me.

I. Am.