Through the town where I grew up, I slowly drive this beat up truck.
In my rearview mirror, a stranger glares at me.
I hardly recognize his face.
Is this who I'm supposed to be?
A fire-burning red consumes my altered vision.
Tempestuously, I drive onward.
Maybe today I'll cause a collision.
Birds have danced around my eyes,
tiny little crows feet.
Wrinkles have formed upon my lips, caused by my years of adolescent smoking.
Through the place where I grew up, I slowly drive this beat up truck.
In this placid, paper town, they all wear a yellow guise.
Their cautions have left me stranded.
It's you I most love, yet despise.
I'm always in my own head.
I no longer have a "self-best."
My hair is falling out nowadays,
And I'm always overstressed.
This reflection is not my own.
Yesterday, my facial lines were not so deep.
If it weren't more years of bad luck, I'd toss you out into the street.
Right through the house where I grew up, I'm tempted to drive this beat up truck.
For I'm too young to have lost it all so quick.
Maybe mirrors are evil.
Maybe hearts are sinister and sick.

Poem Rating:
Click To Rate This Poem!

Continue Rating Poems

Share This Poem