Let Me Walk alone instead:

Where is that hand that held me?

Until I reached the other side of the road,

The hand that lifted me, and carried me

Each time the swings threw me abroad

I could be far from home, but close to what I adored

It did not matter what new lands I explored,

That hand was there for me to tightly hold

While I ran through the thing I neighbored.

But now time what’s up, and I grew up so old.

So old that I walk the streets alone,

The cars aren’t just a danger or useless toys

But the source of comfort and support

That I can’t get from no one anymore.

My car has become my second home,

 After that office’s cubicle where my childhood dreams gets destroy,

And my fantasyland on fire dries up

Becoming this hard and hayed meadowland.

Sometimes I do miss that hand

Not the one from clingy partners or stingless attachments.

But the one that like a magic wand my whole restored

From all the mistakes and disasters beforehand

The falling, failing and crying and reality crash.

Oh man, nothing was as good as that motherland.

But now only on some holiday weekends I go back

 To all the naggings about what I am doing in life.

Hearing about how I have been losing track

Of the things that I am not ready to get,

 But everyone expects me to fetch.

It is all feedback but no one can understand,

 I am simply just not ready yet.

In those moments I suddenly realize, I want to walk alone instead.

This hand is just an illusion of my bashing childhood’s remains

That keeps from falling into an abyss,

By holding from me the freedom that took years for me to claim.

And now, I  just don’t want to be contained.