it keeps rejecting me — this angled place. i wonder if my hair was tamer or my anxious ticks were more subtle that i could afford to float along, unnoticed.
i’ve never really been a good performer. i say the most awkward things at the most inconvenient times. forcing those around me to squander for air, wondering where it all went.
cause i steal it. all. my body becomes a wavering tunnel, siloing out all the life as i strangle the moment, my biggest fears riding on the backs of others, weighing us all down.
but it’s the deepest struggle i have — letting go of who i was supposed to be and holding on to who i am now.
it’s so exhausting how much of an emphasis we put on what others think. so many people i see are just tired, trying to keep up. lines in their faces are deepening. fights with their husbands are severing. we’re all just forming rutted circles paying more money to buy more convenient plastic.
unable to repeat, the pattern of release.