Trapped in a car

The things that are new

become old when you snap

my bra strap from that distance.

I get a kick out of irony

and sarcasm.

Left to decide on document

sizes, book sizes, illustrations

and all the help in your eyes

is never enough. Best to keep

all your distance and never

tell me when you come to

my mountain or tease me

with your clip art magic.

Never forgive me

for running away

I keep on wiping your footprints

off of my conscience.

I will swallow the words

I cannot say

and make them poetic

or die trying.

I hope you know

I do this mostly for the dead

who watch over me

the angels who saved my sanity

and hid death under a tire.

I do this mostly for my trapped mind

in a car stuck up and down the streets

going in circles along the avenues

because Mont-Royal festivals

never change anything except traffic

and how desperately

I want to run from the city

into the fields.

Being trapped in a car

for seventy minutes

and confessing my sins

in Syrian comfort food

relapsed me

into self-doubt again

hatred

edgy sex scenes

novels turning into movies.

Most days I don’t want to be you

I pretend I don’t see our similarities

I say no

like you’re a drug I want to inhale

I say no

to your darkness

at how it sucks me up

whole

like a fucking vortex

takes my romance

and chokes it.

 

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10 thoughts on “Trapped in a car

  1. Oh Chrissy ….you write with such gorgeous pathos that it hurts in its beauty … I’ve missed you , trying to keep up but find myself very quiet lately , many changes yet still the same too …I love your courage ! Love and hugs , megxxx

    Liked by 1 person

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