Go Get Lost

I stare at the ticket in my hand
And the backpack at my feet
And I think to myself:
I don’t go to find a job
Or begin my career—
That can come later, perhaps
Whatever that might be.
Instead I go to lose myself–
And to find truth.
To soften parts of me
I didn’t realize
Weren’t bone.


The reader brings his or her own experience to the poem and creates meaning. Here is my experience:

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About Josie

I run slowly through forests, eat spoonfuls of Jif's Natural creamy peanut butter, and perpetually wear a fuzzy Patagonia sweater I found for $1.50 at a charity shop in Jackson Hole, Wyoming. I deal in trees, breeze, and threes. I'm not interested in being normal. I'm not looking to pass GO. I'm not looking for anything other than breathable freedom.