Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Personal, Writing

Road Trip

I popped my bubble gum,

turned the radio up,

as we sailed past the sun,

with the windows open.

I didn’t care if we crashed,

I simply had to kiss you, in that moment,

leaning across, until I was almost in your lap.

I loved you, the only way I knew how,

in my Lolita sunglasses and a short skirt,

leaving my lipgloss all over your face,

so everyone would know you were mine.

You told me once,

that you were glad I was here,

and I took it to heart,

taking a vow that I would always be somewhere close to you.

In your dreams,

in your bed,

in your hands,

my wrists bruising and sighing as they became yours entirely.

In your car,

is where I feel like being right now,

blowing another bubble as we pass the border sign.

I don’t want to be mine anymore,

and I haven’t for a while,

as you’ll no doubt know,

because it’s not just my wrists that have ambitions anymore.

It was never just my wrists.

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