Broken Tongue

Times like this, I get wanderlust. I start to think I'd like to go somewhere far away and never be seen or heard from again.

Maybe I'd change my name.

Maybe I'd do something I hate until I learned to love it, like hiking or going to the beach.

Maybe I could even go on dates with pretty girls; and they wouldn't think I was weird, or be in love with jerks, or care that I was homeschooled.

But most likely, it would just be exactly the same as it is now.

[my teeth are iron bars; my ribcage is a dungeon cell]