or rubber band, something

pulled taut. something without

and within. something resting

in stasis, something scared to

go further. something resistant,

like magnets. or aluminum. foil.

something like, “I just don’t relate

to this.” Something like, “I just don’t

feel it.” But knowing, also, that

it-we-I could feel better.

Something like confusion, deadness,

frustration. Something like, “I thought

I knew myself better.” Something like,

“It used to be easier.” Something like,

“I don’t know what I really feel.” But a

caper, a job. I must make progress.

Something like, “I don’t know what’s

inside me, but it’s not that.” Resistant,

resistance. Exhaustion, exasperation.

Cycle. My few moments free, trying,

resting. A vague sadness that I cannot

cry out. A need to be a better parent to

myself, a better witness. I should be

better by now. I should be able to get

it out; how long have I been studying this

for? An expectation: the tears have to be

sobs, have to be catharsis, have to

change things. We allow the feeling and

it morphs into something else, or so I’ve

been told. The horrible tyranny of the mind.

Overactive, I take it. But suppressant,

like a chloroform blanket. It expects, and

it judges, and it chastises, and it

demands, and it goes, and it goes, and

it does not allow a second of reprieve.

And I am weak against it.

I am battered and besieged in my days.

I am an unhappy servant.

And my breaking free! This, too,

the mind has hijacked. That it should

be swift and consistent. That I should

be better at it by now. That I should look

and notice all the ways I am

failing. The thousands of daily battles

I am losing. All this, and in the mind’s

back pocket sits a plan to abdicate

when I am least prepared.

Gone will be the structure of tyranny,

of dominance, of submission, of

hierarchy. Just me in this body;

the urges;

the squelch of dying wants;

the sudden unmet needs.

And then the mind,

with all the smiling countenance of a

sociopath carrying out his crime,

will return with its grip of iron,

and I will dip my head in acceptance

and shame.





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