“Get Off the Bike”

Lately,
I’ve been riding a bike with wobbly wheels.
One’s overinflated—logic.
The other? Deflated—emotion.
And I’m wobbling through life,
like I got somewhere to be
but can’t quite steer straight.

Been riding this bike for a long time.
Too long.
And my inner child?
She won’t get off.

She’s seven.
Angry.
Defiant.
Hell-bent on doing it her way.
White-knuckling the handlebars like she’s got something to prove.
And maybe she does.
'Cause no one ever showed up for her.
She had to pedal through storms with scraped knees and silent screams.
She did it alone.
I can’t even be mad at her.

But babygirl...
this road could be so much smoother
if you just let me fix the damn tires.

We can’t keep living in our heads
when the heart’s where the map is.
We’re lost.
And I want to scream—
"Just f*cking let me love you!"
But yelling only makes her disappear.
She folds into herself,
retreats into the echo chamber of her mind,
where love sounds like a threat
and softness feels like danger.

Maybe she’ll burn out.
Maybe one day she’ll stop.
But it’s been 33 years
and she’s still pedaling.

And god—
I admire her.
That stubborn fire.
That don’t-quit grit.

But still...
I need her off the bike.
Her little legs pumping so hard,
fighting hills and sharp curves like it’s survival—
because for her, it always was.

It’s gotta stop.
And yeah,
she’s gonna be so mad.
But I have to try.