Eleven Hundred

In a town of eleven hundred,
I find myself alone.
I grew up in a big town,
with lots of friends.

And now in eleven hundred-
I have found no one I could tell
things to.
No one to share in memories.

I left the city,
left my friends,
the guilt for them never ends.

I miss them bad,
I miss them much.
But some have changed.
And not for the good.

Drugs and booze,
booze and drugs,
gangs and whores-
who is who?
what is what?
Where are some of my friends?

Other friends remain faithful in contact
and love me to death,
and I feel the same.

I have died and gone to my
personal hell
of eleven hundred.

I miss all of my friends,
my comfort zone.
Meeting new people,
and new molds to fill.

I am an eagle,
inside and out,
I'll never fit my wings,
into this giant
small
mold.

They can't shape me
into what they need.
I'll be cast aside,
on I-47
cast aside.
By the road.

I'm not good at sports,
and that's all you seem to do.
I can't play a brass instrument,
which is what you have.

I can't seem to fit
into
your mold.

My inner eagle is calling out,
wanted to be reunited with its family.
Its kin.
Its blood.
Its own species.

The wings are my way around,
the independence in the city.

Now, in the country,
I must rely on giant abilities-
that I own none of.

I lost myself in books and music.
found a new haven
in hockey.

Colin Fraser helps me out
like Tom Gordon in a book,
makes my day right.

My dog is a safe-haven,
away from judgmental eyes,
unfair names,
and uneven teams.

My eagle yearns to be set free,
forced to stay where it nested.
Its heart yearns to be with its people.
Its friends,
its comfort zone.

I become violent,
and angry.
I want to punch faces in,
bash groins,
and break shins.

I bottle it up,
and save it for a rainy day.
And perhaps, in luck I will go to a hockey game.
All will be right, for a little while.

Until Monday.
It looms over my feathers and wings
with a menacing shadow,
casted over me like a net,
restricting my breathing,
clouding my eyesight.

In my town of eleven hundred.
I write this poem and think of all my friends.
Back in Chicago,
the pain for me never ends.

My eyes get blurry,
I feel moisture on my face.

Where are you when I need you?
I am stuck in my town of eleven hundred.
The school my own personal hell.