I feel like a pressed flower
And not in the good way
This town
It's the book
That's pressing me together
Until I'm dried
And shriveled
And pressed
This town think it's doing me a favor
They think this pressure
Will preserve me
But why
Why must they preserve me?
If they really wanted
To keep me
Full of life
Shouldn't they have
Kept me in the dirt
Where I belonged
And not
Ripped me out
Put on pedestal
Then shoved into a book
That'll be forgotten for years
They say that they did it
Because they love me
I know it's a lie
This town doesn't love me
They just want to keep me
All to themselves
If they really loved me
They'd have appreciated me
And let me be
YOU ARE READING
Leaving Behind the Endless Fields of Corn and Soybeans
PoetryEveryone has that one place in their heart. The two will always be connected, whether they love that place, or hate that place. My place? My town? I love it, I hate it. I've left it behind. This collection of poetry is about the place, the town, tha...
