trauma

it could be

something as small

as a scent

the smell of

bleach

as it swirls in the toilet

washing away

years of grime

but it'll never

clean you out of me.

it could be

the clinging of sheets

heavy like a body

over me.

it could be

driving through a red light

and imagining shattered glass

or seeing snow

and remembering

skid marks.

it could be

fireworks on the fourth of july

that send blood pouring through

your fingers

as you remember

a bullet wound

that no longer exists.

it could be

chemicals

sprayed on grass

that remind you of

a different chemical

in a fight long over.

it could be an emoji

sent through text

that reminds you

of an abusive ex.

what does it mean

to be traumatized?

is it a caricature of panic?

can we ward it off with

trigger warnings and psychoactive drugs?

we cannot categorize it,

as it spreads, amorphous

through our veins,

and though the circumstances

may not match

we always end up

the same way:

broken

with a system that doesn't dare

to support us.

healing is a journey

we must take

on our own

because

therapy is expensive

and justice is never served

in neat packages

with our name stamped on the front.

criminals may never be convicted,

wars may never be won,

yet still we are expected

to rise.