A small child leaning

Against her mothers leg

All those years

The gentle firm hand

Between shoulder blades

Pushing her forward

Into things

Became pushing herself

Doing the hard

That which breaks the heart

Again and again

Whispering to self

“A spoonful of cement”

But where does it all end

After all in the head

When the conversation

Is always

“Do it for them”

So if tonight

You want to watch Forest Gump

And curl up in a chair

I’ll make the tea

And I’ll meet you there

No judgement

No “you should be other”

Than what you are

You’ve done the hard

Let it make you

Now take this blanket

And let it break your

Shell and bark

Fall away

Child sliding further

Into the comfortable chair

Let the rest be “out there”

It will all be there tomorrow

And

So will you

*I was ever the kid that got stage fright. I would have to be shoved into rooms, conversations – out of cars, go to school. Left there, standing at the gate – not wanting to be dropped, left. The relentless boarding school from five years old – it begins as a ripple in the sand, growing higher and higher until it becomes a wall.

Resistance

Looming like a giant

Squared against the sky

Sometimes it is just the recognition that it is there

To find the door

The work around

Sometimes it is to see it

Walk back inside

And close the door

Set the kettle to boiling

And the tea wafts chamomile

And all the world moves on

Without you in it for awhile

I have ceased to resist

And it has made all the difference

This isn’t about avoidance or shirking

It’s about allowing – when it doesn’t matter to anyone but yourself

To do whatever you want

Without the constant

Should

Ringing in your ears