April 28
Perkiomenville
Being actually alive does not feel as good as I imagined the
relief of being dead would feel and therefore I have anxiety and dread, or is
it disappointment. I feel like a failure
when I am in the process of trying and I want to throw the pieces in the air
and run. Does this mean I’m weak or does
it mean I am frightened? Or is there
some heavenly host of other reasons why my crêpe paper soul twists and turns in
the breeze of the marketplace? Some part
of me was auctioned off and its removal left a psychic scar that even
equanimity can not ease. I am all things
wonderful and yet there is this flaw, this toe tied thread which holds me back,
holds me down with painful accurate precision.
I look for the knife with which to cut it all the while wondering if
this will turn it into a toe tag or a price tag.
Police your self destruction
*
K-TURNS
I do not believe in a universe that makes complete
sense
I often find myself trapped
Because the things I pull into no longer feel
firm.
I attempt K-turns in alleys far too narrow for the
maneuver
I can’t back myself through the passages I plunged
into willingly
My faith doesn’t compute in reverse and I find
this disconcerting
I may walk into the face of fire
But find it impossible to turn my back on the
flame
Today a one-way faith is fine
As long as I am moving forward.
You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way
to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault
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