Image Credits: Isaiah Ireland
This car drives me.
You have anger for me because I pushed you out the door —
put you on a separate path where you could be more.
Truly A path where you could just be.
Because baby, I don’t know where I’m going.
This car.
Drives.
Me.
I know you.
You want to look ahead, see your destination clear and in reach
And this isn’t a lesson that I want to teach
But my steering wheel’s gone, darling —
It doesn’t matter what I see.
No matter where I look.
This car.
Drives.
Me.
You confessed your wishes for security, for stability.
You want to come on this trip with me —
there is absolutely nowhere else I’d want you to be.
But my door is locked, darling, I just can’t get out.
I don’t want you trapped here.
I don’t drive this car.
This car.
Drives.
Me.
I’ve held you through tears,
consulted your fears,
held you so dear from this seat of mine.
I don’t want you to flee —
I’m yanking this seatbelt but darling, it’s stuck.
And yours works just fine.
So please, go be free.
I wish I could come.
But baby —
This car…
Kevin Lowman is a fourth year Marketing Major