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Isabel Frye Mar 2020
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.
What do you think? Leave a comment with feedback, would be much appreciated! :))
Bhill Mar 2020
be prepared for the perpetual driving force to takeover
history will repeat it self
history will take over and cycle thru this flaw
life cannot support this unacceptable future roadway
we will find a path and change it's course

Brian Hill - 2020 # 72
Will we?
KB Mar 2020
Remember those days,
when we’d jump in the car and find ourselves
somewhere fifty miles south?

Or when we’d decide on a Wednesday
that it was the time for an adventure,
the purple pom pom on your dashboard
fluttering in the summer wind.

Where did those days go?

Why have we left them behind,
the exhilarating, spontaneous, unsure
best days of our lives?

We have traded them for days locked in,
watching the snow fall outside rather
than being the ones outside chasing it.
Carlo C Gomez Jan 2020
There's a sigalert
on the conveyor belt,
now we'll all be late for work.
How can anything
I spend half my life on
be free?
Little by little
I'm moving away from me.
Next year
They're adding a fast lane.
No solution there,
just ******* in more butane.
Psychostasis Jan 2020
Sometimes I hear things when I drive
Most of the time it's car horns
Sometimes it's the screeching of tires on asphalt screaming to be stopped
I try not to focus on it because you shouldn't be distracted while driving
So I keep my hands on the controls
And my eyes on the road

Sometimes in the mirrors I see your face
Glowing faintly like some kind of ethereal movie image
Sent by a projector with a bad bulb
Sometimes I wonder if I drive alone or if you're there
But that train of thought sends my misled hands faulty directions
And I drift out of my desired lane

Sometimes I wonder if the voice coming from the speakers is yours
And if its the same voice haunting the air vents
Whispering lies into my vulnerable mind
I try to ignore them but it gets to me after a while
And eventually my glass house of bottled substance abuse and sustenance comes crashing
Leaving my hands to crawl on a broken field of glass and reanimated pains that slept dormantly at peace

So I staple my hands to the wheel
And glue my eyes to the road
And try my hardest not to cry and swerve into the first car or railing or tree I see
And pretend that face in my mirror behind me is just the trick of the light

I still think about the tree you hit
I never told you that we visited it once after you
But only once

I ran my fingers across the twisted and scarred bark
I studied the missing chunk of wood and felt nothing but an ache in the pit of my soul

I'd visit it again sometime if it weren't for the same reason I haven't visited you:
I don't know where to go.

Roads and highways and backwoods remind me of the cemetery you rest in
Each tree, each house, each street light and sign
All of it looks the same
Much like the gravestones creating the labyrinth you stay in

But if one day I do stumble across your grave
Or that tree
I'll bring you a grape soda and a blunt
And a Mickey Mouse for your collection
And we can talk again
Just me and you

Hopefully I get a response
Colm Jan 2020
More than anything
It's not a home that I want
Nor people within
Or stuff
Or responsibility
No
It's the freedom of such
The desire to begin
And the standing memory which I've yet to know
Which drives my heart forward
Like a turning car
Racing and ever
Towards new ends
Driving Force Of Mine
Brian Jan 2020
I find myself in a storm
I knew where I was going
Yet I am surprised
That God is crying out
Water from his eyes
Me by myself
My worries and my fears
I knew where I was going
How did I still end up here?
Then I see the lights
The only offering of guidance
They keep me from going astray
Without them surely
The ditch is where I would lay
I've seen these lights before
In following my older brother
In the kind words of a friend
The proud teardrops of my mother
They were there all along
Showing me the way
Were it not for them
The ditch is where I would lay
Wrote this one night after driving home through a very bad thunderstorm. Hope you enjoy!
LLillis Dec 2019
Rows of angry red
eyes stretch endlessly onward.
Morning “rush hour”.
It occurred to me one morning staring at a seemingly endless line of brake lights that everyone else in this increasingly frustrating line was just as tired and miserable as I am. Tthe age old adage of seeing red ironically applies to tail lights especially when lit up to indicate the constant braking of traffic.
gracie Dec 2019
i am crying in the front seat
passenger to the roads i once called home
i ask if they have cut down the trees
and you say everything is the same,
but we both know that nothing ever is.
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