Broken Car

I am a broken car
because it’s what I have to be.
Shattered are my rear view mirrors
I no longer look behind me.
Rusted are all of my brake lines
I have no choice but to move quickly.
I’m racing into the future (you sure?)
Well, what other choice do I have?
I used to stare in the rear view mirror
and pump the brakes on bumpy days,
but if the past has given up on me,
then the people who keep me in theirs
can wave to me as I speed right by them
onto a better and brighter future.
My lights are out, so I drive in the dark,
but I’m guided by moonlight that they cannot see.
My speakers are out, so I drive in silence,
but I’m comforted by voices that they cannot hear.

I am a broken car
because others try to break me down.
They lay out plans like open roads
of lives they’d like to share with me
then lay down spike strips just to trick me
and watch as I crash as they sit back and laugh.
Deflated are my tires, just like my spirits
after selflessly doing so much for people
who discard of me when they fulfill their needs.
Despite being broken, I still have my seats
and others are welcome to sit here with me.
There’s room in the trunk for all of your baggage,
I don’t judge nor do I look or go back there anymore.

I am a broken car
because I trust emotional hitchhikers.
They say they’ll take this drive with me,
but then hop out and leave
when they tire of my kindness.
They slash my tires and slow me down
as a final thank you for the ride.
They carve their names into my paint,
then close their eyes to erase the memory of me.
I always stopped to pick them up
because leading with love is the best way to live,
but now that my brake lines are rusted out
I don’t think I’ll be stopping anytime soon.

I am a broken car,
not a broken man.
I have a broken heart,
and some broken plans.
I never give up on other people,
so why would I give up on me?
Devotion unrivaled, I leave no one stranded,
one day down the road they will see.

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