The Rut

I’ve been trying to be pro-active in fixing this thing.
But unlike a freshly sprung leak, ideas have not been free flowing
and the solution cannot be guaranteed through a 24 hour call out fee.

Like a spring lamb I am moving in leaps and bounds and taking all in my stride
and then mentally falling down stairs backwards,
Tripping over the rug that I weave, with the thick skin I have grown.

Tired of existing, I am trying to live again,
to find purpose in a meaningless, chaotic world.
Side stepping my war zones,
I am reaching beyond the desert of my comfort zone
and learning to juggle my self made grenades with poppies of peace.

I have a thirst.
I just don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.

I am faced with so much choice: it is like painting the Eiffel tower,
by the time you’ve finished it is already time to start again,
the same endless cycle,
over and ever,
in a tour de farce.

I have some big decisions to make and no rewind button,
I completely lack the confidence to make decisions,
to make that first incision.
Instead I replay options over and over until the words turn to mush,
My plans turn to slush,
I write endless lists, the contents of which
and add
to the odds against me achieving anything.

I am an eager eyed toddler,
salivating with enthusiasm,
but torn between the open arms of two loving parents,
I don’t know which direction to grace with that first step,
Until either way seems like the wrong path,
where somebody gets hurt
in the making of my history.

My eyes, heart, arms are wide open,
just like the statue The Redeemer
I am stuck in my perceived role;
of victim, mental cripple and time frozen martyr.
I am aching to move but my fear and lack of focus
is cementing me to the ground,
and no pedestal,
no cerebral nor celestial itch
can lift that burden.

It feels like the longer I wait, the faster time moves.
I am a rabbit in the headlights, startled, rushed and blinded
I recall the safety of the darkness
inside the secret compartment of my keepers hat,
waiting to be brought out,
For The big reveal but I am unrehearsed
and struck with stage fright on opening night,
I am indeed late for a very important date.

Seeking purpose and direction,
Feels like wearing leaded boots in quicksand.
Surrendering to a life un-lived,
I swallow my dog tags so that I might be identified,
To prove that I was once a person with a name.
I close my weary eyes
and wait for a sign from a god I don’t believe in,
Procrastination takes me,
I am saved.

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