KARLA | H.S.
In a normal person's life their are potholes in the middle of the road. Potholes are such as a family members passing, a surprise pregnancy, or maybe even a illness that could lead up to a dead end or a another route.
Those are normal potholes. I'm not normal.
My potholes are not small, not a flat tire but instead destructive and out of the blue.
My potholes are sinkholes that I somehow get out of. Sinkholes being the niece of a crime/drug lord, relatives of one of the biggest scariest Cuban empires, an incarcerated father, missing mother, a dead best friend, and now stepping foot into the spotlight of fame.
My potholes not just leave a scratch on tires, instead possibly swallowing a car up in dirt and concrete.
I'm surprised I'm still holding up.