Backseat Driver

Mon, 01/16/2017 - 16:58 -- jexemc

I used to have this car

People thought it was a sweet ride,

But there was a flip side

They didn’t realize the controls were all behind me

The pedals, the radio, the side mirrors

See, I had a backseat driver

Picked him up at the age of five

When he made it clear he and my innocence could not occupy the same space

So before I even learned to operate my vehicle he took the steering wheel

Stabbed me through the seat when I peeked in my rearview

So I could never get a real clear view of what was happening

I could hear, feel, but never capture

The way he was the driving force behind my thoughts and actions

He rode me into thorns that slid themselves across my wrists

Made me sick until I stared dreamily at stocked medicine cabinets

Took from me what I alone had the right to give

And despite all this

I still let him drive

Cause in my ignorance I had no idea he was to blame

No idea the depths to the shame I felt from being used

The term “sexual abuse” was new to me

Cause all I knew was that I had a backseat driver

The radio was always blasting, and he sung over the noise

So in every sound I heard echoed the screeching of his voice

That drowned out my own

So it seemed I had no choice but to ride along

Silenced, and broken

With a hopeless case of highway hypnosis

Droning down that lonely road until my eyes were frozen open

But I thank God for that

Cause down that woven path of shattered glass could focus on the horizon

Until I saw the love of God in every ray of light I could drive in

Light that comforted me enough to cry in

And inspired me enough to smile again

Like I did when I was five, and

Light I knew I could rely on

And so I tried it

I never dreamed I would get this far

When I jumped out of that moving car

Battered and bloody, got a running start to new beginnings

But I’m still not finished

That backseat driver still hobbles after me

And every now and then I’ll look back to see just how far I’ve come

But I’m not running from my backseat driver

No, I’m gunning for the sun

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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