Spare Tire

If a spare tire could speak,

It would tell of how it feels to sit behind,

As others who look exactly the same,

Get to do what it was built to do.

It would think it’s not enough,

And there’s something wrong with it,

Even though it was made like the rest,

And capable of whatever they do best.

But then it would tell itself,

Again and again and again,

That it’s playing its role in life,

And it should be grateful for it.

It would have a sense of pride,

Or at least convince itself to do so,

That it’s here for a greater purpose,

And it’s as important as everyone else.

If a spare tire could speak,

It would thank the heavens,

Everyday and every night,

For not being a useless flat tire.

It would try to accept itself,

With all its imperfections,

Because that’s the only way,

For one to keep moving forward.

But then it would wonder why no one ever asked,

If it ever had enough air to breathe,

Or if it wants to leave its dark place,

Just to know how the road smells like.

It would wish for someone to get hurt,

By stepping over a sharp object,

Or slowly suffocating to death,

Just to know how it feels to be alive.

– Da⁹⁰