My Whip

I try to take care of you as best I can.

Regular washes and tune-ups.

I always have you in the best gear.

To others—you may seem ragged and worthless, a clunker.

To me—you are special and beautiful.

The manual says Toyota, but I know you are a Benz.

I never really understood why people judged me because of you.

I mean—after all—aren’t I the one who controls you?

Aren’t I the driver and you just the vehicle?

You—just a body that takes me from place to place.

Your translucent windshield—nothing more than a window to my soul.

You—just like others—come in all different shapes, sizes, and colors.

Yet—you all consist of the same components.

Why are you valued differently?

Why does your body invoke fear in others?

Before they even open your doors.

Before they even see your cargo.

Before they even see me.

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