When I Move Around
I’m tired of justifying myself, even to myself. Some things just are. And it’s with this urgency that they are. The streetlights shine with indifference, whether my heart breaks or beats or gets filled with light. I can’t turn myself in. I wish I could. I can’t turn myself inwards. The raw might be rotting, or just a metal ball. I compare myself to the world. Am I vast enough and bright enough? Am I whole enough with healing, or do I prefer destruction? I’m angry at the world, which has no self control. It lets its waves foam at the mouth like a rabid dog. I hate the neglect to rectify those who lick on their thumbs to count dollar bills and smack on asses like bubblegum. I can’t help being unfair when imbalance weighs the wakeboard we’re on. I’m not moderate, I’m not jaded, but I can transcend. I want to understand without shying away, which is always the goal. I want my spirit in motion just like this: on wet cement, gliding on rollerblades. Carving momentum out of the ground to ride on the rhythm of feeling okay. When I sway, I will oscillate and be a beam and open a chasm with my confident strides. I’ll be who I am. That will be full of light. I’ll transcend into better, and kinder, and free. I won’t crash when I get what’s coming to me. When the headlights appear, they will widen my eyes, but my pupils won’t constrict or shrink away from the light. Because by then, I will see that with nothing to hide, there is glory inside of a glissile mind.