The Lifted Truck Lament

Ten feet off the ground, your chrome chariot gleams,

Rolling coal and roaring, drowning out silent screams—

A cry of assertion: "Look how manly I can be!"

While your monster truck whispers what you're scared to see.

Those oversized tires, that thundering exhaust,

Speak volumes about the battles you’ve lost—

With your own reflection, with what lies within,

That buried truth, scratching at your skin

You climb that ladder just to reach the door,

Each step a statement: "I need to prove something more."

The irony’s thick as your truck lifts higher,

As if elevation might quench that inner fire.

So rev that engine, flash those aftermarket lights,

Keep fleeing the thoughts that haunt you at night.

Your truck’s compensation is crystal clear to see—

An armor of steel against vulnerability.

Darling, park the truck; come down to solid ground,

The truth you’re hiding is already making rounds.

That lift kit cost more than therapy would,

And learning to love yourself might do you some good.