I don’t consider you
A Los Angeles resident
Until you’ve cried alone in your car
While stuck in 101 traffic
At midnight on a Saturday
While classic rock plays in the background
Feeding your tears with corny-lyrics and gasoline.
(I hate the way those corny classic rock ballads
Make me think
About what’s just happened.)
And as the tears blur your vision
So the white ford in front of you
Turns into 3 fords,
Sometimes, it's only the clinking of the
In the front pocket
Of your mom's car seat, that keep you
“I'M PATHETIC” out your window.
So you keep the windows up and the AC on,
Because April in LA is hot,
And you yell it at your dashboard instead
Because your dashboard listens
Even when the moon doesn’t
And the ocean of tears that’s gathered
Under your almost-fully-matured-cheekbones
Is really just a sea of little things you wish would happen
But didn’t, so they fall out of your brain anyway
Hoping someone will see them
And make all of your wildest dreams come true!!
Which never fucking happens.
So the tears keep falling and gathering
The cars keep driving
The cats keep screeching
And the homeless man on the corner of 2nd and Grand keeps snoring
Because nothing stops for you, kid.
Especially not this city
So get out of your car and stop crying in the driveway
And move on to bigger things
Because even though you can’t see it through tear blurred vision
There is life beyond those hills
Even past the ocean
You just have to stop letting the 101 get you down.