I am still a child, even today
While my skin grows and stretch marks rise
And for years all I ever craved was attention from anyone with eyes, or vocal chords to say anything to me
Now I am older, and I would have thought I’d learn how to live in my skin,
How to live with myself
But now I am a shell of what I once was
Who I used to be
The life and will to survive has left my body, I am decrepit and weak
Yet the leech inside me only grows quicker and quicker with every heart beat
I hate how much I hate myself
I’d give all the money in the world for some way out
Some way to feel
My body feels foreign, I can’t recognize it
And I’d live in the body of everyone else before my own,
Because I know I’ll never be comfortable inside of myself
Maybe I should accept what has become of me
That I’ll never be who I was, or who I wanted to be
That I spent years searching for validation where I knew it would never be found
Just for the thrill that I might just reach it
Even though I know I never will

We decided to drive.
I sat in the back because, you told me you were a good driver.
I sat in the back because I trusted you.
I let my body hover over the seat, shivered as the cold metallic handle graced my hands.
You told me, I didn’t need to.
I didn’t need to wear the seat belt because we were so, so close to our destination even though I had no idea what that was,
I didn’t put my seatbelt on because you told me not to.
And as the green lights turned to yellows and reds
We kept driving
All along the same road
The roads turned from single lanes to four; 5 lanes to one
And I kept looking out the window
The little girl in the back seat
Trusting people is a privilege.
I remember your hollowed voice echoing through my ears as you turned the volume up
How you tried fighting over the bass, hoping you’d get your message across
And we drove
We drove past trees and the ocean; across canyons and we even tried driving over the moon, we would have done it if we could.
And I remember trusting your hands
How they moved over the steering wheel so gracefully
My mother always told me to be relaxed and to trust the driver, they have your best intentions and anyways I never liked fighting
So I decided not to fight
And as the sun said it’s final goodbyes and the last layers of light was stripped away
And like painting over walls in a new house
The stars crept in, but eerily
Your hands did not glide over the steering wheel anymore.
Not graciously, at least.
I sat in the back, all alone
I repeated in my head the vows, the trust, the desperation
I decided to hum along to the music, the music to drum out your ramblings
We drove for so long.
And your hands did not feel safe anymore.
I wanted to say stop.
I wanted to cry out in all that is holy-
I wanted to put my safety belt on
I wanted my mother
I wanted it all to end
After all, I never liked driving, and my trust was barely holding on, it was caving into itself as the trees tried breaking our windows.
Your feet slowly, daringly hit the gas
You turned the music up so you couldn’t hear my shouts, here my deficit crying
Even though nothing floated out of my mouth
Nothing came out, only tears
Only wonders and what ifs
And nervous air
You gambled with the breaks, decided it was never worth stopping
I remember crying in the back seat.
We had driven so far.
I was told good girls are quiet
You said you wanted the best for me
And so you hit the gas
And over the moon we drove
Over the biggest canyon we went
The trees carried us on our journey
And the glass broke the chains of every memory and thought one has
The glass broke the seat belt.
The glass broke my screams.
The glass broke me.
The glass cut itself.
Once you fell next to me,
You finally stopped
I never liked to fight.
I never liked to yell.
I never liked to be quiet either.
I never liked to scream.
But I always hated driving.