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Uncertain

Not sure about this one. I called it "Evolution" on the post to the poetry community I am part of, but I don't know how well that fits. Also, italics? But, I think it has some good lines. 

Oh, runaway…
oh, run away!

Bags always nestled
somewhere in that limbo land
between packed ’n un-
packed; between coming, 
but we’re always going.

Oh, run away
at four am, when highways
are at their most romantic.
To keep heading west—
what a novelty it’d be 
to die old
in the Good Ol’ West.
A life, lived as 
a Josie, or a Fern.

Someone else
who never had nightmares
about the open highway.

Yet longed to make those nightmares
dreams come true.

Oh, runaway, 
with your second hand auto—
third hand, or fourth, really—
and your hair in braids.
There’s no fear of desert’s dust 
on your flannel, 
nor of northwest’s rains
on your shoes.
The envy of the masses, 
you are, yes—we can
admit that much.

How apes longed 
for the opportunity to run.
Our legs straightening slowly, 

Our spines taking much longer.

Oh, Runaway, 
oh, run away!
and be whatever it is
you thought you’d be—
a waitress or a writer, 
a copper; a robber.

A person who stole hearts
And minds
And all the future

laid out for themselves.

 Oh, Runaway!
…oh, run away.
05/28/2014

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