The Losing Battle

It’s stumbling. It’s catching your toe on the smallest stone or crack in the sidewalk and suddenly you’re falling — again. Around and around you go, your legs spinning as you desperately attempt to right yourself, to keep from slamming into the ground. You might catch the arm of a friend or manage to pull up before impact, saving yourself the slow motion careening, but the bruises, breaks, and scrapes appear on your hands, you knees; the pink-cheeked embarrassment now one more affliction, one more weight, one more reason to hide.

Whether you crash or are miraculously granted a steady (for the time being) foothold, you’re shaken, you’re rocked to your core. With both feet beneath you, the world still feels slippery, as though you’re no more than a few moments away from ending up back there. It’s constant, overwhelming, never-quite-succeeding attempt after attempt to regain balance, to restore right. It’s a never-ending masquerade ball, it’s spinning and bowing and distracting nearby eyes from tender wounds. It’s a life-long charade, a fight to save face when, some days, you don’t want to try again, you don’t want to fight anymore, you don’t want to lose anymore.

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The Wall

“I’ve hit a wall,” they say, “I can’t take it anymore.”

I hit walls on a daily basis, sometimes more than once each day. These walls tend to be smaller, temporary obstacles. It may be a matter of having exhausted my capacity for being in public and dealing with people, it may be a matter of having had my patience tried one too many times, or a matter of simply running out of energy. In most of these situations, I simply need to pull away and recharge.

Sometimes, the walls I hit are on a larger scale. Sometimes it may be calling an end to being mistreated by a close friend, it may be a much needed a few days break from my routine, or it may be that I’m done hitting walls so frequently. I’m tired of the overwhelming exhaustion and constant level of stress. Yes, I’ve chosen a busy life. Yes, I have elected to have a lot on my plate. Yes, I understand that this comes with a certain level of stress and exhaustion. But I’ve had enough. This isn’t sustainable for me. Someone else may be able to take my work load and run with it long term for no problem. For me, three years of working fulltime and going to school is all that I can take.

Something has got to give.

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Belonging to the Sea

The man looked out upon the sea
He knew it as it knew him
As he waded out, far past the knee
He felt a rise from deep within
 
The fix of his long-been drying out
Throughout his days ashore
A long and trying, sorrowful bout
Of consoling hearts forlorn
 
Now there, contained within his chest
A desert vast and wide
As he crumbles, cracks and turns to dust
All joy he’s known is dried
 
This constant press from all directions
Such slow and careful rolling
Provided him long-sought correction
The holding up, the lulling
 
Carefully lapping ’round his insides
Rinsing off those tired walls
As the sea that filled him now resides
All weary from him falls
 
Having returned to his beloved sea
The man, he turns to leave
Feeling, at once wholly light and free
He walks once more into the grief
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The Sea In Me

The ordinary calm within my chest has become a rolling, boiling mess. The once quiet waves, no longer to be lulled, break endlessly within my rib cage. Without means of release, this mess of sea and foam crashes down upon itself, building and perpetuating the raging, salt-tinged storm, as it comes ever nearer to swallowing my sorrowful heart.

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I Want the Bad

I want the bad, the things we shouldn’t want. The truths we shouldn’t have to know.

I want to be torn down to my core. To understand this infinity perched between my lungs.

With minor cracks and fissures, nothing more than a narrow, biased view is afforded. The infinity within me, while smaller than most, seems endless and unrelenting in its torturous telling of a girl too scared to move. Too scared to act. Too scared to say anything despite the innumerable words that fall from her lips.

I need to hold the weight of the world, turning it over in my hands, studying its every layer. I need to be struck down by its impossibility. Understanding finally, that the hurt is never ending while we perpetuate it’s reeling.

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