I had a complete lack of ideas for today’s daily prompt, but I just started writing and this is what happened.

maybe a better poet could make a poem out of this word but I am still learning I don’t feel anything when it comes to that word, tourist. all I think of is laughing at passerbys in ridiculous getup, looking around wanting instructions because they don’t know where they are where they’re going. I don’t know why we laugh, though, because aren’t we all like that sometimes somewhere? I remember being lost and it’s not a good feeling not something you wanna take pictures of. but they’ve got cameras smiles because they’re making memories and a little part of me is jealous green envious. because while I’m stuck at home stuck in the same old room old world, they’re out there SEEING the world drinking it in, they’re traveling finding places. it seems like such a so long time ago when my life included driving vacations freedom time. such a so long time ago I can’t remember how good it felt to be new to be somewhere to be different to grow. I guess I do remember but I don’t want to doesn’t it stink to remember and only remember nothing more no more. okay I guess I felt something with that tourist word but I didn’t know until now isn’t it funny the kind of digging you do writing?




2 thoughts on “tourist.

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