Headlights
Headlights through the window was such a pleasant thing
the lines racing from one wall to another, then suddenly disappearing
I used to enjoy watching their unique dance, glowing from wall to wall
until one night the lines meant something different,
something joltingly painful
Before, the headlights were innocent and clean
soothing and graceful, with an untainted gleam
they soon became the last thing I wanted to see at night
because after the headlights came a drugged out daddy,
“just coming in to say goodnight.”
They say that just the littlest things can be a trigger for PTSD
so maybe that’s why seeing those little lines across the wall gives me anxiety
so maybe that’s why I cover my head with a pillow, when I see lights in my window
and start pretending to be in a happy place, where he can’t find me, can’t touch me
and I’ll finally be left alone
