So, is that what I’m leaking?

“Life is not a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in one pretty and well preserved piece, but to slide across the finish line broadside, thoroughly used up, worn out, leaking oil, and shouting GERONIMO!!!”
― HST

When the doctor told my parents that the probability of my survival at birth was pretty low, it was almost as if I overheard the conversation and in my infant mind flipped that doctor off.

When I was six and I planted a back yard full of twigs expecting a forest to sprout up but was told otherwise, I’ve devoted ten years to planting all those trees that didn’t grow when I was six.

When I was twelve and my parents split up I held my head up and didn’t cry, I took the reigns and did what any other mentally sound twelve year old would do develop insecurity that all men in the world will hurt you unless you hurt them first.

When I was exposed to my first serious car accident I didn’t freak out and make a scene, I accessed the situation and tried to figure out a way to drive that piece of shit car to where I was going.

When I decided to make a break for it and escape all the drama of Illinois, I decided to drive myself into another swarming nest of angry bees that was South Carolina.

When I was half dead in the hospital from anorexia I didn’t ask for pity, I escaped and promptly started drinking bourbon and listening t as much loud music as possible.

When I rode my motorcycle through the neighbors yard I didn’t panic and worry about what the neighbors would say, I pointed Max towards the curb raised my butt and rode the wave.

I’m covered in scars, and when I skid through the “finish line” I’ll be proud of every single damn one of them.

greenmachine

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