By Corinne DiOrio
I grew up in a town where I once found comfort
in green grass and polished decks,
where my neighbors got high
off wood stain and fertilizer fumes,
and their plastic picket fences were
painted white like their plastic faces.
I sought insight in their petty discourse,
in forced smiles and forged concerns;
surrounded by people who felt pride
in becoming carbon copies,
and degraded those who tried
to stray from monotony.
I feared I would become the cul de sac.
I grew up in, a cycle, a dead-end.
So I played manhunt with myself
and hoped to find divergence.
Edited by Emily Chance