not ready to be loved yet

My old Ford jumped across every familiar pothole,

It was the neighborhood road home from my first boyfriends house,

& my second.

& two of my best friends.

Small town.

I didn’t blast music that night

I let my car take every hit.

I wanted to hear the bumps in the tire and the rage of the RPM.

Accepted this was all just another lesson.

The same one, again.

I’m not ready to be loved yet.

The road felt different this time.

I used to walk it at night after my first break up,

Hoping to see his car drive by after a night out.

I felt so much harder then.

I drove it every weekend in high school,

Rivers of tears were left in those cracks.

The road was smoother now,

I wasn't shattered.

I surrendered to the understanding that I was on my way,

not just home,

but to who I’m meant to be.