The way people perceive you isn't gospel
You're one of those flowers freckled alongside the highway
Always mistaken as a ****

growing up, i lived on the
highways between FL & KY
either in the cab of my dad's truck
or the backseat of my mom's ford.

streetlights became stars, &
the stars became my universe
i saw my first meteor at 3am
on the road back from TN.

Halloweens were spent in the cab
with Bugle's on my fingertips,
cackling like a witch.

Christmas was an adventure,
stuffed into the backseat between
blankets & winter clothes.

breakfast was a McGriddle,
lunch was a bag of chips & soda
from the gas stations & truck stops,
and dinner was my favorite, always
at ******* Barrel, beside the fire place
surrounding by my family & others.

the highway is my home, &
i wouldn't have it any other way.

and i’d like for it to sound poetic.
poetic and sad
“the car smelled of
cigarette smoke
as we swerved
on an empty highway
waiting for the sun
to catch up”
nah.
neither of us smokes
and you didn’t swerve
and the highway wasn’t empty
and it was only
eleven p.m.
we weren’t running from the sun
i’d like to say
we were chasing it
but baby when
have we ever done something
so brave?
nah.
it would even be poetic
to admit that we’re cowards
but we aren’t those either
we’re just ****** people
you know?
that’s all we are
that’s all anyone is
driving on a highway at eleven p.m.
with other people
who are just people
and ****
if that isn’t the most poetic
and sad ****
that i’ve heard all day.
ha.
turns out the highway
was empty
after all.

Driving on country road
Beatles on the radio
Wind is in my hair

I wonder if truck drivers ever get tired of the open road,
Where cars speed past in angst of their destination,
Red and white lights filling the darkness.
Endless dedication to wearing down the pavement that sticks to the Earth like a bandaid.
I wonder if Earth gets tired of us littering,
Destroying,
Peppering it's surface with blemishes to be reconciled with.
I wonder when humanity is to be torn down,
Another plague roaming the planet ready to be wiped out soon enough.
We don't compare to the locusts,
The frogs,
The volcano ready to wipe us out.
40,000 years overdue,
The ash ready to cover the sky and pollute our lungs until we suffocate.
I wonder what will happen to the highway then,
Maybe reclaimed by the grass that once existed here.
I hope the car lights stop shining,
I hope the truck drivers reach their destination to finally rest from the constant stop-and-go.

Come on the highway
to the Moon let's go.
Take a turn to the stars
Without further ado!

I understand
The overrated teenage urge
To scream out of a sunroof

While racing down an empty highway.

Sometimes your heart feels
So heavy
You wish you could take flight.

Release it all
With the wind.