Hope In Cars

I don’t think you understand,
really, how I was broken.
But I’ve been known to tell a tale,
so let me introduce you to myself.

I break without links.
Chinks, tiny breaks, and tiny mistakes,
quiver together enduring the weather
but never moving out of the storm.

I am a riptide pulling myself under.
All I needed was a word,
but you had no others,
no time to spare for me.

I am small, and my mind
is frail (are you happy now?)
That is mean, and undeserved,
though I cannot help but ask.
I admit I can’t stand alone.
Months long beatings from long ago
leave me unable, unable to cope.

But I will be fine when you see me again,
and the car passing outside my window
is never you when I’m home
unless I’m crying, and need you most.

4/17 poem

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