Imagine, oh surly teenager, all moods and unsureness and trying to hide your pure heart. You've worked hard for this, you've been handed the keys to the car. One of many dream cars. Haters gonna hate. The ones who can't drive are the worst, telling you all the reasons they think you can't do it as well as they could. The ones who can just diss your sweet ride because it's different to their Mum's which they've been forced to tolerate all this time. They'll try to make you forget.
Just turn the key and drive away. Leave their whining to fall away in the wind whipping through your hair and listen instead to the roar of the engine. The river, the ocean, this land knows who you are.
Do what you love. Be who you are. Sing loudly along with the radio, just to rub it in.
No comments:
Post a Comment