I really am my own worst enemy
I think I need to fight myself
when the war for my heart
has already been won
but I bleed mistrust
my wounds ooze insecurity
so I bandage them up myself
still acting like I don’t know my role
like I am ad-libbing this character
but the curtain is not there
there isn’t even a stage anymore
so I don’t know what to do with myself
alone in a room with my emotions arguing
my head reciting the lines
and all the while
Truth is in the room, cleaning up that ripped curtain,
tearing down that stage, saying,
“Show’s over. Give up the act.”
(but I am comfortable and afraid)
so I move to the museum
putting a replica of myself on a shelf
summing up briefly on a sign
who I am
(It’s easier than standing for something)
and all the while
Grace is in the room, a wild look in her eyes, saying,
“In case of emergency, break glass.”
and I know I can’t breathe while I am on display
I know this room is for old things, dead things
I know that stages are for pretending
and just then I realize
Choice is standing there, reminding me,
“You don’t have to live like this.”
he points to the exit sign, lit up, blood-red
and I smash through the glass,
a self-imprisoned convict
and I run towards the door as fast as I can
knowing life waits on the other side
http://brookegale.com/2012/02/09/when-i-am-on-display/
