My Town

In this small town,
I’ve discovered
My heart bleeding out while angered
About the looks of a noun.
In this small town,
I’ve all but swallowed dirt
With my eyes closed and inert
To the rebelliousness of my gown.
Dreams are small.
Dreams are all.
Dreams are hard
And they are wrong,
—Yet they are my guard—
Be them fragile as a flower’s song.