Before kids we drove
a blue Chevy Corvair.
No seat belts (of course),

so you could slide next
to me in the bench seat.
We rolled the windows

down to escape the gas fumes
and the staggering smell of oil.
But oh the sound of the engine

roaring behind us in the trunk
as we accelerated close together,
the streetlights all turning green.

We leaned into loose curves,
navigating to the straightaway
where we would open up and fly

like lovers from some Springsteen
song until the road became nothing
and the car disappeared and it was

just you and me hurtling to this place,
suspended by our own combustion,
carried by time, married by velocity.

i dreamed of being so light i could just get up and float away from this dark place i had trapped myself in
i did it.
with it i got a brand new addiction to appetite suppressants
i dreamed of getting a second chance with a man i hardly knew but liked the idea of
i got it.
with it i got an abusive relationship that came out of nowhere and hit like a brick to the jaw
i dreamed my parents would divorce to end the hatred and yelling that constantly filled the place i didn't want to call home
they did.
with it i got forgotten about
i wanted to love myself so i changed to fit the only version of myself i could ever pretend to love
i wanted someone else to love me so i accepted that just saying it was good enough even if their actions told me otherwise
i wanted to live in peace and quiet so i ignored my home, that had long been held together by my father, as it crumbled all around me
i got everything i ever wanted
but nothing lasts forever
and nothing good lasts for very long at all when you break everything you touch
and then there's nothing good left to come around
i had everything i ever wanted
and now i have self worth that relies solely on the number on a scale, my trust in everyone around me running on empty, and a broken home that no one that stuck around to watch the demolition of has any to desire to mend