The air of my birthplace is my heaviest shackle.
Words tend to linger much longer
When it is your pride they tackle.
I remember how they rejected me as an heir,
Saying a bastard should know better
Than breathing their air.
Where are they now? Did I check all the boxes?
Do they hold me up high?
Or do they clutch their crosses?
And now I only know where I should never go,
The road less travelled
Is the road you pave alone.
The grass of my hometown is my own quicksand.
Sink or swim, honey,
Keep acting like this is your dreamland.
I recall how they lovingly said I will not make it.
Look at your paper crown now,
Look how I break it.
-JW
The Daily Writing of Jackie Wright 