This is a short poem about wanting to travel.
Just clarifying, in case there is confusion about the title. And because the title, “Of Wanting To Travel” seems ridiculous, especially for a sombre poem such as this.
I wrote this a year ago, published it here, and have now made a recording of it. It is weird to be trying to talk about your own work (ignore this, future publicist of my book.), and therefore, I will leave it up to you to decide what you make of it. In fact, I would LOVE it if you share your thoughts in the comments section below!
I’ve become this house.
These walls, these kitchen fumes.
I’ve become this city.
Its dust, its smoke.
What is this wanderlust?
Is it just Facebook pictures,
Or new air?
Is it the sky I need to see differently?
Is it people, to give me
One more chance?
Every stranger is an opportunity to redeem yourself.
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