I seems I am here to write this out.

There are so many things I want to do.

But ill equipped to perform

Balancing on adjusting fault lines

It’s life at her greatest

Testing, moving, swinging

Beautifully aloof

Unaware of all the pain she causes

But happy just to touch it

Life

Itself.

Do not forget
The sky
And the clouds
Are magic

That our soul
Our voice
Our emotions
Are our glory

So when you, child
ask me a question
That I do not properly understand
Or my answer is meek in comparison

I will say
Daughter,
Son,
I do not know

And it is not fair
And it is your right
To seek out
The answers

Because I was not strong enough
To ask those questions myself
Or I have realized
I have accepted a truth

A truth I am not proud
To pass onto you
With your eyes so open
And your soul so pure

Are you going to give up now?

She asked me.

She didn’t really ask, as much as she was showing me

I have no other options.

Of course I wasn’t going to give up.

I am a puppet of my own violent motivation.

Steadily, repeatedly, until I die.

And you will die before you give up.

That was the message.

This is what I wake up to,

jarring and unrelenting reason.

If only I had her focus,

or her concentration.

She’s probably clicking her nails,

dulling until I stop writing.

I have tipped; I have swayed
Felt the concrete on my face

I have leaned and cracked
By the pressure on my back

Still gleaming
with past ruptures
Still walking
with unhealed fractures

I have taught; I have fought
The young and the old

I have sought; I have crossed
Both whom I love and whom I scold

I panicked.

My brain attacked today.

It attacked my lungs,

Stupid sharp whistling sounds.

I looked out of control.

But I felt aware,

that I wasn’t breathing,

that I was attacking myself again.

It attacked my heart,

terrifying skipping stones in my chest.

Whipped one by one,

Muffled blows in my breast.

I panicked.

I looked out of control but I was aware,

of the guilt,

of what will drag along with me.

I can’t be freed from fault,

It’s not the way.

Because I panic;

is why I don’t relate,

is how I cleanse.

Fright being necessary,

like a dream

where you muscle tone fails you,

I was paralyzed.

My knuckles hit the laminate –

again, again, again.

But I don’t move.

Feeling my bicep twitch,

Feeling my throat raw,

My mouth wide open,

But I don’t make a sound.

Because I panic.

The power inside,

will never translate,

to the outside.

People may see flickers,

of insanity in my eyes.

They may see me tighten up.

They may seem me strain and ease.

But I will never translate.

Until it snaps,

Until I no longer attack myself.

Until I no longer panic.

Until I bellow,

Until I howl,

Until I wail,

Until I swing and connect.

Until it attacks outwardly,

Instead of inwardly.