Traveler

A train from New England to the Big City is filled with travelers with new beginnings.

Some were scorned. Some sought rebirth.

Some had big dreams. Some escaped from nightmares.

Others were there for the travels and the perfect pictures.

One was simply moving on.

Which one are you?

Her head was down

Texting her goodbyes to all she knew.

He was typing away

Catching up on data and designing a plain old presentation.

A baby cried for her mama

Somewhere in the car was a dog yapping.

The conductor paced up and down

Collecting his time for a solid two hours.

Connecticut ain't a dull place if you'll never miss the city.

New York was home if everything you built was because of the dreams it granted.

But since last spring, nothing can ever be the same.

Another girl's feed blew up like crazy.

When all she did was post a pic of her crazy friends posing by the window

With the skyscrapers boasting behind them.

Further down the car was a beautiful boy.

I wonder if he's got a girl.

But instead of asking,

I talk about him to my best friend.

In the pocket of my bag is a cold one.

I'm thinking of swigging, so I calm my nerves

But my therapist told me drinking ain't the answer.

So, I plug in my headphones,

Pull out my Macbook Air,

And spill out my problems in this poem,

'Cause, that is the kind of traveler I am—the Runaway.