Bruised Passports

They say traveling is fun.

I like to see the children in

The foreign places run.

I like to feel like the happiness in my

Life has just begun,

But I think I forget where I came from:

Broken windows and houses filled

With loaded guns.

Bruises that when touched

Are no fun.

They say secret secrets aren’t fun

They say secret secrets hurt everyone.

I can move from city to city

And feel sprung

But I can never shake the emptiness

That follows me from

Where I’m from.

Why do we always carry heavy chains

From past remains?

It doesn’t matter where I go,

I will always feel like my fuel tank

Is on low. . .

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