It starts with a scream that gets stuck in your throat
Silenced, muzzled under sweet restrictions of
Smiles, hellos, how-may-I-help-yous
But never going away.
And then the scream becomes dance
As you jump, wriggle, shake out of your skin
Wanting to hit, wanting to run, feeling vicious and wild:
You could marathon if you had the time.
And then dance becomes drive
As you get in, fill up, and leave.
Sitting at Starbucks isn’t good enough for you now,
Not with the three-mile-long tether holding you in place.
Cars are meant for more than errand-jaunts,
Just as you are meant for more than school.
So you drive to Ohio,
Just on a whim and just for the day.
The radio and GPS keep you company
And neither voice begs a response.
(They are, at the moment, your best friends.)
Shaking down I-75 you go
Hurtling at 70 miles per hour towards
Anything else.
Feeling out of control but also
Alive
Correct
Nearer to truth.
And when you cross the border into Ohio,
There is instantly peace.
Relief.
The shaking stops
(And not just because roads are better.)
You feel untangled, smoothed out, unobligated.
Free of ties that cannot reach across state lines.
Monsters of Mine 