It is hot in my car and cold in the world.
The sun sinks its invisible fingers
through the glass of my windshield
and leaves them there, stuck,
unable to touch anything on the outside.
I bake in my car like an unborn baby
waiting to be birthed into a cold world,
waiting to be shocked back into waking
as I walk into work. Isn't that what life is?
You are born and it is cold and frightening
and different, then suddenly
you are marching into work on a Tuesday,
still afraid, still young and green
even though you are so old now,
seasoned yet still fresh.
It is hot in my car and cold in the world,
and I feel like everything is just beginning.
The air hits me in the face, and I want to cry
like I am entering this life for the first time.
I want to cry like it is all too bright
for my little eyes to hold.
I want to cry.
I suck in a breath,
let it out,
do it again.
And it's time to face
what's ahead of me.
YOU ARE READING
These People and I
PoetryThis year for National Poetry Writing Month, I want to challenge myself by mostly writing about people I wouldn't normally write about. This could include people from my past, present, or even future. I'll be adding a new poem by midnight each day i...
