Hand on the Horn

My dad always drove
With his hand on the horn
Of the steering wheel
Prepared and on edge.

And so when I started to drive,
I did the same.
Anxious of other drivers
I sat on the horn

And he questioned me,
Why do you do that?
So, I guess he never realized
That I learned from him.

To be guarded
And scared
And always prepare
For the worst.

To never trust
In myself
And to never trust
In others.

I have lived my life
With my hand hovering
Over the horn

I neglect to listen
To people
Who scare me
Even if they may help me

I shy away from events
It’s more dangerous
To risk getting hurt.

But if I drive
With both hands on the wheel,
And relax into my chair,
I can trust.

And with that,
I can take in the cars around me
And the breeze blowing
Through the cracked windows.

I don’t have to hover
Over the horn
And lean into the wheel
Preparing for something
That might not happen.

Instead I can drive.
And enjoy the ride.
And not fear what may happen
Rather enable the best to occur.



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