Gathering dust
I horde it like a currency
collecting and trading
with the mites surrounding me
Breathe
ingest
sneeze
Creating rust
I spread it like grass seeds
sowing and reaping
the tetanus walls around me
Lockjaw
frozen
won’t thaw
Preparing rot
I fix it like a bedsheet
folding and creasing
decayed blankets, dead sleep
Slowly degrade
crumble
disintegrate
I chose this
the me I made.
This poem is about the ways we respond to difficulties, fears, and everything between. More specifically, I guess the poem is about not responding to them. Too often, we can see that we're hurting or in need of change but aren't taking any action. It can be tempting to remain stationary because it gives us a sense of security and safety; if we don't step out, we won't get hurt, right? Not always true, less so when it comes to fear and getting out of a difficult situation. Doing nothing just gathers dust, creates rust, and prepares rot, none of which do us any good. The really difficult part for me is that at times I find a part of myself actually wanting to stay in my difficulties, almost like it defines me. Without it, who am I? I think this is especially true for things we've carried/endured for a long time. It's strange, and I don't fully understand it, but I can see the effects of giving in to that desire. If you're struggling, or just "gathering dust," take action. Talk to someone, take that step you know will be difficult but will start the healing process. You don't have to be dusty, rusty, and rotten.
Hope you have a wonderful weekend!
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