Get me out of here has been on my mind quite a bit these days. The urge to just get up and run out the door. I wouldn’t take a thing. Bags unpacked, purse abandoned, phone smashed, I’d run.

I’d speed down the highway heading west, hitting the low shoulders as I pass on the right, I’m in too much of a hurry for rules, as I’ve always been, and now it’s time to live my life.

But first, I have to find it.

Who the fuck am I?

Who the fuck am I to think I can just run when my life no longer suits me? What makes me so special that I’d have the privilege to run when I don’t want to stay?

I’m a woman desperate; I’m a woman ready to go wild.

Let me go back to slinging coffee and pancakes in a diner where I can change my name and nobody would know. I’ll be the woman who patiently waits to take your order, I’ll be the woman clearing your table when you’re done. And in the time between, I’ll be the woman out back who took up cigarettes again, because why the fuck not at this point?

No one remembers the woman who took their order at the diner.

No one even cares to ask her name.

Let me be the woman no one knows anymore.

Today’s poetry prompt words were: get me out of here, low shoulder, and pancakes.

_{Photo by Dominic Kurniawan Suryaputra on Unsplash}