My little hometown.

Over the past few weeks, or maybe even months, I’ve been constantly inspired.  Between working at art camp, listening to live music, and meeting local artists, my mind just keeps spitting out poetry like it’s the only language I can speak.  And all of these crazy, amazing people I’ve met are people who live in or around my little hometown.

Lots of people criticize my little hometown.  They say that it’s boring and that the people are all the same and that they just can’t wait to get out.  And honestly, that just makes me kind of sad for them.  Sad that they could be surrounded by so much beauty and not let themselves experience any of it.  I used to be that way.  Just a little bit.

I took my town for granted, dreaming of better places.  Recently, though, I’ve realized that places aren’t incredible because of their size or titles, but rather, because of the stories that exist within them.  Those stories are everywhere, not just in Paris or London or San Francisco.  They are absolutely everywhere, and I’m forever thankful that I’ve finally learned how to read them.  

Regardless of where I go, my little home town will always exist within me; a big chunk of who I am, who I was, and who I will come to be.  A couple of days ago, I saw a band that I could tell just really cared.  Cared about their music and each other, and of course, their home.  It reminded me of all my balmy summers and all the adventures that I can still experience.  All of the sunsets and sand and journal entries and faded photographs. It reminded me of the air here that somehow carries a different feeling than air does anywhere else in the world.  

Here, I have found a haven.  A place where it’s just me and those simple little stories, so pure and raw and beautiful.  But that doesn’t mean that I won’t be able to find a haven somewhere else.  A haven doesn’t have to have a strict definition: palm trees, sand, sun.  No.

A haven is a place where you write your story, and let it seep through the waves and the walls and the cobblestones.  Where you expose your heart and soul to the community around you, leaving little pieces of you for them to decipher.  Your impact will mean something different to everyone.  Some people won’t even notice it or care.  But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t set your words free, and let them fly.  That you shouldn’t open your eyes and see the world, all while letting the world see you a little bit clearer along the way.  

Dream Big,



2 thoughts on “My little hometown.

  1. It just makes me so sad that people could attack a place that is home to so many people. It doesn’t even matter how many people consider it a home; it’s still a home. A place where people find comfort. Thinking about it just makes me sick. My thoughts go out to Boston.

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