Listening to rhythms only these ears can hear
Feeling straining fibers within my arch
Pop goes my wrist at the slightest lift
My leaning tower aches for some relief.
Do I accept this form,
This dysfunctional existence?
Can I see who I am right now
As the night throws down it’s darkened blanket?
Losing myself in visual historical fiction and
Forgetting this exoskeleton I can’t shed
With every sensation, shouldn’t I rejoice
For here I am, alive!
(Not everyone can proudly say that!)
Running away from what can’t be expelled
Is only resistance to facing a reality
Inescapable, except in death;
An option discarded as soon as concepted, so
There’s no getting away from me.
I might as well face myself head on
Then hide, apart from who I am,
As living while hiding, just isn’t my style.