Page 18

Feeling Trapped

I wake up every morning to the sounds of nails
pounding into the wall,
scratching down a chalkboard,
falling to the floor one by one,
two by two.
All together now,
they roar like thunder
and I wish it was my car I was hearing,
burning asphalt into rubber as I
speed off and away.


I'll stop at the edge of here
and where I would like to go.
I'll look back and question
if I've made the right decision.
And the gas pedal will speak for itself
when I switch the gears from park
to drive.

I won't need mirrors where I'm going
or a map, for that matter.

I won't need anything
but fuel to keep this car running
so I won't ever have to stop and think
about all I've left behind.


But I've awaken now
and the dream has long been over.
My head pounds into the wall
I scratch my nails down the chalkboard
and drop to the floor, admitting defeat.