When I fight, I fight as a blind man running into a ditch. There is no telling what the outcome might be. Good or bad, I can never tell. One thing is certain, win or lose, it never did settle well in the pit of my stomach. It churns in my tummy with such anger, gives me gas. It makes me belch with such thunder, wriggle with such discomfort, I would rather I staved off the fight.
When I fight, I fight as the rush-me-not tortoise would. I close up the windows to my heart so shut, the winds fidget to escape. I bolt the door to my soul so hard and draw the blinds and sit quietly in the pregnant darkness that I have created for myself.
My mouth takes back its inviting smile. My eyes shut out their warmth and my face its prior recognition of who my friends be. My welcoming arms fall limp to my side, my chest heaves and falls in defeat, my broad shoulders slump: my skin crawls with such a chill, such a chill that my teeth chatter, my mouth wobbles, my heart flutters. My heavy heart cringes and folds and grinds to a halt. That sets me off – my soul screams! And such a feeling that is, I would rather I staved off the fight.
I would rather have unsaid those words; I could have feigned sleep, murmured for effect, got you off my case. I could have sneezed for a bit and maybe derailed my train of thought. i could have said I loved you, you could have said you loved me back and all would be well now.
Now here I am, seated quietly in this pregnant darkness I have created for myself; a grave I have dug for myself and now I have to take a seat in. I am now seated quietly, too weak to climb out, too scared to scream. My soul is doing that for me, screaming, weeping, sobbing; clawing through my mind, searching for a way out.
I am afraid; my skin is crawling with such a chill. I ask myself – why did I fight? I would rather have staved off the fight. It has brought my shameful flaws to light.
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