Hello, Luce :) I don't think that I have commented on one of your poems yet, so I think that I will do it now on this new one. I saw that you just posted it.

The title is bothering me a little, because I don't know if you are talking about the ego sitting in the passenger seat, or the person who is being forced into the passenger seat (the one that the ego takes the wheel from). If you are talking about the latter, then leave the title as it is, but if you are talking about how the ego is sitting in the passenger seat, I think that 'sit' needs to be changed to 'seat.' I also think that the second line needs to be changed to "It likes sitting on the passenger seat," because that is what it is typically called in a car. Since we are now on typos, I think that in the 9th verse, 'drive' should be 'drives,' like the 6th verse. I also think that in the 14th verse, 'skins' needs to be changed to 'skin.' However, it is your poem, and so you do what you think is best.

I like this. It reminds me of Sigmund Freud, who I believe came up with the "Id, Ego, and Superego." However, the ego is usually defined as the ground between the Id and the Superego, but I think that you are describing the id more than the ego in this one. However, I am just rambling and trying to produce some relevant knowledge; I can see how one comes up with the ego though, because it is the one that controls us. Sorry if I don't make much sense in here...

Overall, I think that this poem is a neat little one about life. I like how you refer to people as ants, or that is what I think you are referring to. I also like the line about how we always want to itch away the ants that are walking on our skin, because I hate that personally. I hate feeling something crawling over my skin...gives me goosebumps. I can totally relate to this, even though I probably shouldn't :|

Beautiful

~S

Edit: Don't forget to capitalize 'passenger' as well!

Right right...
The ego problem.
you already know this but I love love LOVE your poems.

Sometimes we lose control, many a times we give it up ourselves to let us rise over the millions we rub our shoulders with. Great poem.