Laurens holds me like a bad habit I can't shake—

red clay under my boots, courthouse square staring like it remembers every stumble.

I hate this place most days: too small for secrets, too quiet for screaming,

family ghosts on every corner, old haunts in the rearview.

Life didn't just knock me down; it dragged me through gravel,

addiction whispering sweet lies till my veins burned and my nights blurred.

Jail bars cold as regret, but that's where the light snuck in—

not a thunderclap salvation, just a quiet "enough" that stuck.

Sober now, counting days like fragile coins,

getting old feels like carrying extra weight I didn't ask for.

No parade for the comeback. No welcome mat from the ones who cut ties.

Just me, picking up shards of who I used to be,

dusting off the shame like dirt from a fall.

Some mornings the mirror lies back: "You're still here, asshole. Why?"

Because quitting ain't in the cards anymore.

Because grace showed up in handcuffs and stayed.

This town might never love me back,

might always feel like a cage with pretty ironwork.

But I'm not running yet.

I'm planting what I got left—words, scars, one stubborn breath at a time.

Can't keep me down forever.

Not even Laurens can.

Peace came when I was locked up and everyone I loved turned their backs on me, best thing I think it gave me an understanding and I was shown that I am loved and not judged

.