My Pothole...

             It has been said one is strong for surviving tragedy. Many roads have been paved  from such inspirational words of comfort.                                             ¤                                                            Along the fog and smog of my journey, I occasionally find a comfy pothole to rest, breath and reflect in. Upon much rest and reflection, I dare say, fuck that.                                                     ¤                                                          What strength can be found in acceptance of innocence. It's not like one can walk away, fend for oneself or even fight. One can only grab on and hang tight among the slippery, curved roads of violence.              ¤                                                          I dare say, surviving survival is where true strength lay. In the sticky tar of continual survival, one can discover they are at their strongest and weakest. This conundrum has caused many to detour and hit a road block.                                                 ¤                                                          As one continues to search the vast highways for street signs and directions, caution must be had. Red, yellow green lights and stop signs are  fucking everywhere, enough to make a body run out of gas. I don't know bout you, but hitchin rides is a damn scary thing to do, no thank you!                     ¤                                                             I'll save you a traffic jam or two, in every soul there's a glove box. In that glove box is a map made specially for you!      ¤                                                                Safe travels my friend, safe travels...                                               ¤