Holding Still and Waiting

All the arm flapping and sarcasm and angst and running in place amounts to the same thing.The holding still and waiting is mine and I don’t want to give it up. The thick rusty metal of it circles me and I can hide behind it’s messy orange meanness.

Just exactly enough chicken wire to twist and mangle and pretend it‘s not cowardice, pretend it’s romantic. Just exactly broken enough to draw others in and keep them from holding on. 

I know how to make it hurt. I need it to hurt to remind me it’s there. I know how to make it numb. I need it to be numb so I can forget I'm still here. I can be patient and understanding and I can stomp my feet and holler all day and it’s the same waiting.

And I don’t know how to stop. Like a tree chained back and now dependent on the thing cutting it’s bark. I can look at it and see it’s linked cyclical insanity. I can KNOW what I have to do to free myself from it and it matters not one bit.

I won’t give it up because what’s under it is so much worse. What’s under it is all up to me. What’s under it might not stand alone. What’s under it will still want you.

And all of it, all of it is just a big giant it’s not fair tantrum.

August 27, 2009