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\n Through the fence, we slipped,
scratched and torn,
but the world behind us
was nothing\u2014
this was ours.
Rubber giants piled high,
a kingdom built from wreckage,
the smell of earth and metal
mixing with the air we claimed.
We whispered our plans,
wild as the grasshoppers we caught\u2014
sting and laughter tangled together
as we spun tales of escape.
The owner\u2019s anger didn\u2019t faze us,
her shouts just wind
against the roar of our hearts.
We built our thrones
in crooked trees,
a couch our crown,
leaning like a dream too big to stand.
The go kart didn\u2019t run,
but we rode it anyway,
down the hill that should\u2019ve swallowed us whole,
laughing at danger,
at the world that couldn\u2019t keep up.
Bruised and broken,
we held each other,
fighting wars we couldn\u2019t win
except here,
in the tire club.
In this space,
we were never less than fierce,
our bond woven
with the secrets we kept
and the mischief we shared.
A sacred place\u2014
where the world outside couldn\u2019t touch us,
where we were fireproof,
surviving everything
but the burn of our own laughter.
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