chrysler
There’s a ghost in the front seat of my car
She’s twelve, maybe thirteen
And cries as much as I do
She remains quiet against the music, or as I talk
With green-gray doe eyes
We watch the road intently
She wonders occasionally about me
She does not know I am there, or who I will be
She worries that I won’t exist
She doesn’t think she’ll drive the car
That her poor soul is stuck to
She doesn’t know that one day
She will master the chains around her neck
Or that she will own a chain
That’s always supposed to be around her neck
She doesn’t know what waits for her
In the next building over
She doesn’t know how long you’ve waited
All she knows is that she’s here
In the front seat of a car that terrifies her
But still, she wants to drive it
So that one day down the line
Just maybe
She’ll conquer what’s trying to kill her
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I.G. Nichols
I. G. Nichols is a soon-to-be college freshman close to finally pursuing her dream of teaching English. She took up writing poetry in her junior year of high school as a way to cope with mental illness and develop an understanding of her own identity. She now writes on a near-daily basis with subjects such as depression, anxiety, post-traumatic stress disorder, suicide, love and the healing that comes with it, fear of the future, and a desire for freedom. She enjoys swimming, art, reading, writing, and video games, and desires to one day figure out how to care for succulent plants.
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