Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jul 2018
We are all in one way or another, bugs on a windshield,
Some of us are the bugs, some of us are the windshield, some of us are the car, some of us are all of these

We tattoo each other’s names in Braille on our chests to see how bumpy the roads are going to look, and how painful it’s actually all going to be,
We keep them there forever, or, long enough for our mothers to see

How much beauty and life comes to an abrupt end when we are flying fast and relentless, hitting a windshield,
I wonder how long the driver of the car will even bother to worry about it,
Just turn on the wipers and get the guts off of the view of the sunrises and sunsets

We are all in one way or another just, bugs on a windshield,
I am the windshield,
When I get ***** from someone else, I like to imagine that I can just turn my wipers on and wipe away everything they carried around with them for all of that time,
On my body, you can find stains left from all of the bugs that have killed themselves on my skin,
Their blood and juices, permanently a home in my creases, I stay awake trying to paint a better picture of the sunrises and sunsets for the people driving me

We are all in one way or another just, bugs on a windshield,
Other times, I am the car,
A soulless machine built to carry luggage from one point to another,
A hard shell built to protect everyone who finds solace in me,
Do not worry,
The bugs mean nothing,
That is what my windshield is for

Just keep listening to the radio,
I can turn my wipers on
Richie Vincent
Written by
Richie Vincent  21/M/Dayton, OH
(21/M/Dayton, OH)   
  899
   ---
Please log in to view and add comments on poems