Potholes

 

Life after trauma is like navigating a long, winding road

With your vision obscured by a blindfold

 

After spring melts the winter’s snow

And reveals the damage to the streets below.

 

People zip past on their way here and there

While you crawl at a grinding pace, paralyzed with fear.

 

Unable to foresee what dangers lie ahead,

You view the world with trepidation and dread.

 

Even when familiar streets become easier to navigate,

The thought of new routes and challenges keeps you awake.

 

Every pothole that sets you back

Makes you feel your life will never be on track.

 

You’re moving nowhere in a hurry,

And it makes you want to scream in fury.

 

All the while people passing by

Without the slightest comprehension why

 

You’re having such a difficult time

When everything to them seems just fine.

 

How could they possibly comprehend

When nothing like that ever happened to them?

 

They could never understand the constant dread

Of wondering what hazard could lie ahead.