I am afraid. I am afraid because I am here And I want to walk away But instead I am right here. I sit here. Why Do I sit here? I think I'm doing it Just to see how long I can. It's like holding your fingers over a burning candle To see how long you can stand the heat Before your skin blisters And you pull away, defeated. I sit still. I always sit still when it hurts. I think stillness Started a few years ago. When I first hit the ground I was afraid to breathe. It was like I had been dropped from a high bridge onto a concrete sidewalk Below And I knew Knew beyond any doubt That things were broken. Things inside were very very broken. Things were splintered and punctured, And if I moved, even to draw a breath, I would bleed out right there. I think that's when the stillness started. And now whenever I am hurt Whenever something hits me I go still as stone Except for shaking hands That flutter, fragile and white, until I clasp them tight together. The world moves around me Under me But I stay still as death Not even daring to breathe As if I will be found As if I will tear apart into a million shreds of wasted paper And drift to the floor. I stay so still my muscles ache. I never cry. I can't cry. I just sit there and feel how peculiar the sense of damage is. How odd it is to be full of explosions and debris whipping around inside An utterly motionless body. And part of me, even as I feel Just sick With how much I know I'd die if my body betrayed my anguish in real injury Part of me looks on from above, From without, With a detached analysis Of this and that Of just where I feel this blow And this stabbing pain, Of just how each moment changes me. I freeze like ice outside And burn like hell inside. It is the most curious sensation in the world And I hate it so much I would die to escape it. And yet when it comes upon me I do nothing Nothing at all. I say nothing. I turn to stone, part by part, My fingers My elbows My shoulders, My legs My stomach My neck Like I'm being submerged in drying cement And finally my lungs Stone My jaw Stone My lips My throat The top of my head Stone. Until all that is left Are my eyes Just watching. I am paralyzed And I look out on a world in motion Whirling, spinning. Moments before I was a part of the rhythm like a heartbeat But that was moments ago, And we all know how much can change in just a moment. When I am stone You can come at me with a chisel And I will say nothing. Bang bang bang And little chunks come off A shard of my cheek A finger at the joint The swell of my collarbone, They crumble when struck But I can't move an inch. I sit still. I always sit still. My stillness is the waiting. It is the wish To destroy. It is the craving Hot and metallic To do something To slice away how much I hate my own helplessness. It is knowing that there is a relief Besides just being saved. There is a way to save myself From this chaos inside A way to feel better Instantaneously. My stillness is the resistance The longing and the "No, I can't." The firm denial Cold as ice Hard as granite. Is it strong to let the world dismantle you by the inch When you know you could get there first? Is it strong to sit and take take take And do nothing whatsoever? Is a statue strong Or is it just Trapped?