Driven by the tides of life. Driven by the days I shield myself from the sun with tattered pieces of bandana & nights my pillow is substituted with mama's arms. Driven by my therapist's addiction to alprazolam. Driven by father's praying palms. Driven by mother's tears & sleepless nights. Driven by the times I plant a boll of torment in her garden. Driven by love. Driven by sacrifice. Driven by my friend's ability to swim while I drown. Driven by my ex-girlfriend's lover's Benz. Driven by all the promises I made. Driven by Plath. Driven by patience. Driven by the girl who waited so long for me in the darkness. Driven by Plath. Driven by the tears of yesteryear. Driven by the gas that fills the air when mother cuts onions. Driven by the days of yore. Driven by Plath hoping this poem is not too confessional. Driven. Driven. Driven.