Honesty Series #1: Where I Run

Where I Run

Where do I escape to
when the thoughts I wish I didn’t have
creep in and swirl
relentlessly?
What do I run to
when the feelings that I can’t control
surge and overwhelm
unceasingly?

I’ve run to food,
a lack of food;
to eroticism —
shallow sex.
I’ve run to books,
to writing books;
to a pursuit
of numb perfection.

I’ve run back and forth
to old habits I deplore;
back to lovers,
back to the covers,
where I hide under warmth
from the cold inside —
ice I can’t deny
but choose to ignore.

I’ve run to the mirror:
picked myself apart.
Stood nude for art
to know I am beautiful.
A masterpiece not yet made,
a masterpiece undone —
to self-hatred succumbed
not believing I am loved

I’ve run to what I crave:
feeding the hollow
connection today,
solitude tomorrow.
Run to self-destruction,
then reconstruction —
a never ending race
against myself.

I’ve run to running,
to sweating,
to constant movement.
Fleeing from stillness.
Knowing that if I ever stopped
those feelings and thoughts
that I don’t want
would be revealed.

I don’t want to answer
the questions in my heart:
What to end?
What to start?
Which path to run —
do I have to run?
Can I stand at the crossroads
until the thoughts are undone?

Can I wait it out
until someone comes
to push me down one
of the unseen roads?
To convince me of what
my heart already knows
but has yet to whisper
to the moving toes.

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