I met a hostage on the plane.

My gaze brushed his as I glanced up from my reading. Grinning, his ample chin jutted toward the vacant middle seat. Reluctantly, I stepped into the aisle as he jostled his carry-on into the overhead bin.

His glasses, slightly askew, were plotting their escape.
His thin short hairs stood in a half ring around his head, a defeated army ready to surrender to old age.

“You’re the only one here who appears to be thinking”, he proclaimed,
puncturing my last hope of solitude.

For the next four hours, words spilled out of the hostage’s mouth.
Sometimes they gushed and other times they trickled.
I received them with the grace of a child accepting Grandma’s hand-knitted sweater on Christmas morning.

His soliloquy was punctuated only by greedy gulps of premium airline Wifi.
After a few swallows, the stench of Fox News was hot on his breath.

“I hated law school”, said the hostage.
“I studied philosophy as an undergrad and absolutely loved it. All this legal stuff is so dry and boring.”

“Then why are you doing it?” I asked, simply.

“Because I’m afraid.”

I stepped off the plane with a silent hope:
that one day, he would be free.

My anxiety holds me hostage in my own body
It covers my mouth with lies
And holds my hands down with worries
I deserve better I think.

you pulse through my skin

you spill out of my eyes

you grow inside my lungs

you strain my movements

you lock yourself against my chest

Knife to my neck,
He licked the tears off me.

I'd always been afraid of becoming addicted to drugs.
The kinds that will keep you hostage after just one use.
But nobody ever warned me about becoming addicted to a person.
The kind that keep you hostage after just one kiss.
I remember everywhere we would go, you always had to be touching me.
Drawing small circles on the palms of my hands.
Playing with the ends of my hair.
Hugging me.
Kissing me.
Hurting me.
I became so accustomed to your hands on my body that every time you left I felt like I was going through withdrawls.
So even after the third blow
And even after me screaming at you to leave
I would tell you to please just hit me one more time
Because i'd rather feel your hands inflicting pain on my body than not feel them at all.
But yet I would always tell myself,
I'm not addicted
And I don't need you
And this is the last time
And despite every wave of insecurity crashing down on my mind, one small thought stays afloat;
I cannot survive without you.
So where was my warning sign
My caution content is highly addictive sign
My run like hell in the opposite direction sign
My no amount of bread and wine can heal this pain sign
And jesus christ there is so much pain.
I'd always been afraid of becoming addicted to drugs.
The kinds that will keep you hostage after just one use.
But look at me now
****** and ******* have got nothing on me
I'm addicted to the newest drug and it's called losing your self worth.
Its called choking on any small shred of confidence you have left.
Its called hating the person who lives inside of your skin because they most certainly are not you.
But nobody ever warned me about becoming addicted to a person.

I was held hostage
By a white man in uniform
Wasn't a policeman, private security
He wore his gun on his belt, seemed nice
Approaches me in the night
Approaches me who is minding my own
He's talking to me, but I have no where to go
I can't run, I can't leave, I'm stuck
He's talking to me, about life
Talking about how he hates paying taxes
Talking about how he works for his own
His words are acid, an ignorant eruption
I have to bare this, I can't risk it
I do not dare. I do not dare risk it.
To tell this man to leave, this white man
With a gun, in uniform, patroling
Maintaining the peace.
My heart is racing, I want to escape
But I'm his hostage, socially bound
To the mercy of this white man and his gun.

Memories
can keep you hostage
to inaccurate and painful illusion