road rage

Mon, 06/16/2014 - 22:38 -- ezer

my mom always called it
white knuckling it
when you grasp at something so hard
your hands turn white
like your trying to keep yourself steady
and keep what’s between your hands still
or for me,
like I’m trying to let my blood cool
and my temper ebb
before I jump out of my car
and let go of the steering wheel
release me from the prison of my white knuckled grasp
to unleash my primal rage at the uncourteous driver
who thought his hurry was more important than my safety
white knuckles
take a breath
drive on
until the next car cuts me off
or the next red light takes too long
white knuckles save my life
because the rage the road brings to me
is too much
when the clock says 5:00
I breathe in, breathe out, hold on


Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.


If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741