Home is that feeling that you get when your driving and you kind of sink into yourself, into the seat of the car and become part of the cushion and feel safe and it feels like yesterday and tomorrow all at once.

It’s that feeling that feels like you suddenly own a small piece of the universe, that feels like your front door in that its locked and its yours and that feels like your ****** car in that its yours and its falling apart.

It’s that feeling you get when you think so hard that you can feel every part of your body and it kind of aches of longing for you to remember how you are a vast vessel of emptiness, that you get when you cross your own fingers and remember how you are small and you are fragile.

It’s that feeling you get when you think so hard that your skin disappears and you flow into the air that touches the streets and fills the void in your lungs.

It’s that feeling you get when you forget to breath and forget that you exist until existing can stop because you cant remember the words to your favorite song or remember the way his smile can hug your soul and your brain says everything but inhale.

And it’s that feeling of when you realize you never knew what the streets you drove down actually look like because you are so focused on the roads and so focused on how to fill them but they’re yours and you’ll take care of them and you’ll come back to them and home is never being able to forget the feelings you bounced off of them and filled yourself with.

I would read an essay on How to Draw A Straight Line if someone wrote it, I would like to know how to freehand perfection, how draw a flawless connection.

2. I would buy a lifetime supply if there was a perfume that smelled like CDs after I eject them from the player in my car, like fundip sticks, faintly sweet, completely bizarre.

3. I’ll scour every article on the science of smiles if it meant yours might leave me less lost, so I could interpret the exact angle of your lips and not feel like I have become one of your sunken ships.

Personally I like global warming
Because maybe from the top of a water tower
Ohioans could see the Atlantic instead of rush hour.  

If the earth got too warm
Schools would have sun days
And I could read books I never get to from the shade.

And I really like the idea of palm trees in Columbus
Of tan lines, of tourists, of tropical drinks
And nights spent at Scioto beach.

I wouldn’t call it a disaster
Or claim the world is spinning out of control
There’s just gonna be more sunny days in O-hi-o.

I don't usually wear my seatbelt
because if I die driving,
I want to go enthusiastically, smiling.

I only want to die
if in a gore-ific scene of carelessness,
I want to exit with a bang, part of a mess.

And I don’t find this morbid
Because if I die cruising down 33,
I will die my mind at peace with the rest of me.