mitski was on full volume through your headphones.
the backseat was your favourite but the songs on the radio wasn't.
observing the people going past wondering if they thought the same things as you.
your dads pathetic attempt to spark a conversation goes over your head because you gave up years ago.
your mums words once said not managed a way out of your head yet.
so you just accept, or at least try to.
accepting isn't forgetting, it's just keeping track of everything every been done.
your aloud to be angry, sad, kick up a fuss, you have every right.
instead you bottle it up, fear yourself more and breakdown uncontrollably.
still.
who wants to create a scene in the backseat of a car?
YOU ARE READING
nostalgic gulp
Poetryfor the first days of springtime and the heartache left behind.
