There is something about the light of day
that makes me want to hide.
To curl myself into a little ball
and roll underneath the couch.
Blinds drawn and shutters closed
creates that feeling of safe.
And yes, I know if I’m closed away
no one else can get in.
It’s double edged this sword I yield
one side raw, the other smooth.
Yet both sides would cut you quicker
than you your eye could ever see.
Weary from the bleeding
but it’s been this way so long.
It has simply become a ritual
almost a coping skill.
Tired of the cutting, scratching,
scraping away old things.
Trying to make room for something to grow
yet something always remains.
It always grows faster than the tiny buds
that promise to bring new life.
Distracting my focus from tending
back to trying to clear the way.
Like a moss or a fungus covering stones
it actually at first deceives.
It attaches itself to something stable
yet produces no seeds or fruit.
Relying on damp, dark places
to sustain its hold on life.
It carries itself on the ever changing wind
and spreads itself around.
My tendency leans toward the dark as well
it feeds as surely as starves.
Leaving me ravenous even after feasting
on shadows and hidden things.
The mystery and magic of the less travelled path
somehow sets me apart.
And on the smooth side of the blade again
it stings being so alone.