I need to stop.
I need to figure this out, somehow,
or try to find a way
to level the playing field,
or if not,
perhaps I can find a way to
reverse the polarity
or make a shift
so the weight is less,
and my leverage is better
or, at minimum,
the pain can be less
consequential.
I am not a machine,
yet—I understand that there are times
when emotion is not my friend,
and feelings can fray the lines
or my sanity
and hence, there are times
when I have to be more machine-like, or strategic,
which means, I can’t think
or overthink.
I have to either act or react,
and I can’t be bogged down
or caught between the crosshairs
of panic or emotion
or depression and obsession.
No, I have to understand the movements,
which can allow me to break the posture
of those who hold me down,
and to do this,
I can either create distance
when I am at a disadvantage
or sink in closer
and close the distance
when the advantage is mine.
To be honest,
I don’t mind you anymore, Mr. Chaos.
Besides, I’ve known you for so long
and I know your tricks
or the way you change your techniques
to keep me guessing.
I know what you do,
which is a conflict, of course,
because while you speak with a voice,
that sounds as if you care,
it is clear
that you can only care for me
from your own angles,
which is crazy
if I go along.
I have come to the understanding
that I have wasted my energy
while trying to grip too tightly
or hold onto something
that only served to weigh me down.
I had to get away.
I had to break free and at the same time,
I never noticed
that it was me who held on too tightly,
or it was me who spun the windmill
to keep the energy flowing.
I need to stop.
If for no other reason than for my own sanity;
I need to step aside
or step away.
I need to make a break
and create space between me
and the chaotic motions
that come from the waves
of our sad inconsistencies, and more,
I need to find a way to sweep the oppression
and to put space between
myself and the challenges
that weighed me down,
like say,
my head, for example.
I need to break the ties
or cut the chord.
Mr. Chaos,
I understand that you know me all too well.
You know where I am weak
or how to traverse the lines
between me and my fears,
or how to expose
where I am vulnerable
and I know that you know the cracks in my façade,
which is how you seep in,
or how you place shadows
on the sunlight over my hopes to find daylight,
and as I hope, I understand the difference
between ebb and flow,
night and day
and fight or flight.
Sometimes, flight is the better option.
I have to change the momentum.
I have to pull a switch, because otherwise,
I will find that I have been drawn in
and swept away by the undertow
of some unwanted item
that either degrades my value
or robs me of my worth.
How much is a war worth to you?
How much do I need to lose
before understanding that there are no winners,
at least not when it comes to war?
No . . .
there are only people who didn’t lose as much;
in which case, how much do I need to lose
before I learn to win by disengaging?
Better yet,
I have a question for you, Mr. Chaos
if you don’t mind.
How miserable do I have to be,
just to make you happy?
(I think I heard that on a television show once
about being miserable, I mean,
yet, I think the saying fits perfectly.)
It’s okay.
No, really. It is.
This isn’t a fight
or giving in to win.
No, this is a new level of understanding
which proves to me
that my old friend Mr. Chaos
cannot survive in a vacuum, in which case,
my best option is to opt out
and walk away, or let go, or run
or to save myself, by any means necessary
or even surrender—if I have to,
because yes,
there are some things in life that are worth fighting for
such as my freedom
or my right to go
or my right to be
or my right to do
and my right to keep my smile
from changing
or turning crooked.
There are some things worth fighting for,
in which case,
no matter what happens to me
and come what may—there are fights
that are worth the struggle because
the ends justify the means.
And, so, if this is true,
then as for the opposite,
or when it comes to the things
that are unworthy of the battle
or the wounds and the scars
both visible and undetectable
then it only makes sense
that rather than lose an arm
in a trap
or grip too tightly,
I have to let go,
and live to fight
for something lifesaving.
Like, say,
my sanity, for example.
I’d like some of my sanity back, Mr. Chaos
please, if you don’t mind.
I understand
that you are here to take your share.
But I am not here to play your way—at least
not anymore.
But don’t worry.
I hear the word on the street
which is that your demons are out there
and pounding the pavement because,
of course, there’s a sucker born every minute
and somewhere, there’s always a fool,
looking for a bargain, and hoping to make a deal.
But not me.
I’m sorry.
I can’t play your way anymore.
As soon as I pay off my debts,
I promise you
I’m out of here . . . . . . .
I guess, I’ll see you
where the palm trees sway.
The Written Addiction 