like a new car off the lot, she was born
no miles on her, no steps taken
the car starts, one mile on her, she learns
soon, she discovers independence
she drives good, but she wants to be customized
her black chrome skin becomes purple
the silver rims she walks with become black
the further she goes, her miles add up
monthly her oil is changed, to keep her happy
her tires hurt from working, she has them replaced
her battery runs low after a heartbreak
not knowing that her battery is low, she continues
running down the highway, in thought, she questions
what is my purpose here
she doesn't control the steering wheel she's given
her purpose is lost, but it's in front of her
she wasn't made to just run
her parts were put together perfectly, from hands
she then awakens but can't move
her battery is dead
it's replaced, by hand, from another
soon, time takes its course
she learns she's no longer a new car
all of her parts are rusted and there's no more starting
she then sees her purpose
she was made to explore
she was made to learn
she was made to drift and race
now she understands why she was made
she changed lives, even if she had no control over her wheel
YOU ARE READING
poetry personification
Poetrywe are all cars running. the older we get the more things start to malfunction. but we keep going. and one day, we cannot fix us because time ran its course.
