(PTSD poem)

Walking on eggshells
That somebody else broke,
Just one word from some poor jerk
And it all goes up in smoke

Somebody's pushing buttons
I coulda swore it wasn't me,
But sometimes it's hard to tell
Which one of us has PTSD

It's funny how one good day
Counteracts the bad,
Half a smile, a friend's phone call
Restores the joy we had

Then out of the blue like a long lost shoe
You tread all over me,
Blows my mind, one more time
It must be PTSD

Close the curtains, lock the doors
Let the thunder roll,

Pick up the pieces when the storm deceases
Pray the sun comes out once more

What have we done? Are we having fun?
There went another TV,
Haul it to the dump with the other broken junk
Another casualty of PTSD


By Debbe Reynolds, after one long, hard Winter, 1990


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