Recently I've wanted to leave
Take a trip without the planning
An old map that's never used crumpled on the back seat between the duffle bags and the case of water bottles that will last approximately 5 minutes in this heat
The steering wheel burning itself into your hands, molding underneath them
Just get in a car and drive down an open road with the occasional turn signal used as i pick and choose my exits
I'm itching to peel off this skin like old clothes and take on new ones preferably of adventure and fearlessness
Instead welcome to suburbia flashes in my eyes like a neon sign so cheerfully does, inviting me for a look at everything i could be, won't be, don't want to be
I already see myself on the I-95 heading south to warmer weather and freshly cut lawns with perfect houses, sprinklers in the front yard, with perfect children and Stepford Wives and sunday outings in the family van.
NO INDEPENDENCE without a car, and even then it only lasts as long as you keep moving.
Shackled by the seatbelt of life i can only feel the breeze from the window that's rolled down where nothing but the keynotes of national public radio escape.
The Smell of Summer also known as tar, leather seats, and a garage waking up from hibernation manifests itself in my nose
i realize i'm back where i started and everything is the same but not entirely and i feel like a cardboard cut-out, a guest, restricted to accepting change
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