Core

Photo credit Exit34 Photography 

 If fear were tangible,
tactile,
something far more formidable than thick clouds,
if it didn't seem to flee from every breeze,
would I listen?

Would I find that fighting against what I want,
what I know will make me miserably happy,
would become a fight I don't want to win?
Except that I do.
I want to fight, I want to dig in my heels and bang my fists against the wall.

I want to forget about everything I've worked for before this.
I want to find myself tied and tangled and strapped down
so that I have no other choice,
no options to turn back toward clarity. 

It makes no sense, not even to me,
but I want to take everything I have shining and new,
and I want to cover it with the mud, muck, and mire.
I want that.