Rain soaked windshields are my norm,
Driving through blurred purple streetlights.
Despite the climbing speedometer,
White knuckles gripping the wheel,
It is never fast enough, never far enough.
I never quite make it out of this town.
Buckled into the front seat of my car,
I fill the floorboard to my ankles with tears.
Every moment alone they flow freely,
Laced with unworthiness and self doubt.
Analyzing every decision made thus far.
This place does not feel like home, never has.
I feel suffocated, chains locked around wrists.
Glued to this place and to these people
Who could not care less if I were here or gone.
Obligations placed on heavy shoulders,
Painful words on how I muck everything up.
They know just what I need to crumble
And do not question the weight of their words.
I have been falling apart for almost a year now,
Desperately trying to tape back the pieces
Of a girl who wants to be more than this.
More than broken, haphazardly reassembled.
More than an empty sadness and paled anger.
I wish to hide myself in solitude in the hills,
Busy my fingers in the dirt and open air,
Stand amongst tall pine trees and just breathe.
Or bury myself amongst a city of strangers,
Those who do not look twice as I pass by.
But I am shackled here almost unwillingly.
How I wish I could run.
