Look under the hood
before you ride.
Discover what drives
you. Cars with dents
and dings still run.
Being an older car
takes you just as far.
Every car is different.
Some cars are new.
Others just make do.
Different builds, colors,
and interiors show
us not one single car
is superior. Stop.
Pop the hood and
get a good look.
If you can tell that
all is well, then go
faster. Drive further.
Change the oil,
buckle up, and hit
the gas. No need to
make it last because
in the end, whether
we were slow or fast,
we crash or get passed.
Tag: car
Frosted Windows
I try to look out the frosted
window. I tilt my head.
I try to see what’s in front
of me. My hands are frozen
to the wheel. I cannot feel
my fingers or toes. I’m running
late on the darkest day.
I stay on the other side of these
frosted windows. I stay strong.
I shake myself awake. I take
my time. I wait out the flurry.
I look out the frosted window
and see no need to hurry.
My vision is blurry. I look
at the rear-view, I see
a younger me. I sit alone
as the snow passes by.
I must find a way home.
The worst thing I can do is try.
Memory Lane
Today, the car is in cruise control.
I take it slow and go with the flow.
Today, I take a ride down Memory
Lane. I revisit past pain and travel
through time frames: different days.
I unravel. I tear up gravel to navigate
an unknown fate. I carry weight;
I talk to my shadows: old versions
of myself. Sometimes, I ask them
for help – words of advice. Miles
into Memory Lane, I face pain
and embrace joy all the same.
I see old friends of mine the way
they were before I last saw them.
I notice houses I used to live in;
I recognize yards I used to play in.
I begin to see places I have been.
Today, I met with Father Time
and rode down Memory Lane
before any new memories came.
Wasting Away
Days fly, and they don’t
say “hi!” or wave “bye!”
Days fade as memories
are made. No time to be
afraid. The world turns
just how a candle burns.
None of that concerns
me. I try my best to feel
blessed – to digest stress.
I try not to waste away,
but I must have my rest.
Like a car sitting alone
in an empty parking lot:
Sometimes, I’m all I got.
I am the bullet being shot.
Will I hurt or help? Die
or try? Crawl or Fly?
Should I wonder why?
Do I fall or do I rise?
Either way, I wont waste
time easily misplaced.
I choose to face the day
instead of wasting away.
Blind Spots
90 on the freeway.
Fast lane cruising.
Chasing a sun some
run away from.
Burning gas and day
light. No time to waste.
Just money to make.
Tunnel vision – no time
to look back. Staying
in the fast lane. Not
in vain – just avoiding
pain. Reach top speed
and succeed. Pushing
the pace, it’s a race.
90 on the freeway.
It is my escape. Away
from slowing down,
I push toward new life:
another opening door.
In your blind spot,
I show myself before
I am somewhere else.
Don’t mind me. I am
gone: a fading song.