The insecure day…

I looked in the mirror this morning,
” hello you”
I realized that I had missed the last three days of saying ” I love you”
~hmmm~
I suppose I could tender excuses, but I wasn’t in the mood.
I am sitting with choices
I am sitting with dreams.
I am sitting with resentment.
I am sitting with boundaries.
Sitting there, staring at them like they might do a trick. Like they might get up off my plate all by themselves and walk away with out any assistance from me. yeah…
right
thats so going to happen.
I pick up boundaries, and it feels like a stone. It’s hard and it’s rough. I could smash some windows out with this baby. I could make a BIG splash if I threw it in the water.
or
I could put it back in the bag and carry it a few more miles.
~sigh~
man that sucker is heavy.
I pick up dreams and it slips through my fingers like a breeze. It dances around me in warm and cold currents. It tastes like expectations, it smells like needs. I could sit here for days, weeks, years and keep swishing my net about trying to catch one, just one, that might make a difference. Or I could let go, and see which way the wind blows.
I slowly pick up resentment, handling it with care. Like a ball of razors, an unconstrained fire it sits ready to burn or make me bleed. I hate holding this one, I fear I may have swallowed it a time or two. It’s a different kind of poison, one that you know is there but you never really see. I feel it though, in the instants when it flames up and the razors and heat pour forth from my mouth with haphazard but lethal intent. When I cut and burn those closest to me as the pieces I have swallowed become to much and regurgitate in the meanest of ways. This one requires surgery as I must remove it from inside me, as it’s not something I can put down.
Choices stares at me. I stare back. Like a giant puzzle thats nothing but pieces in the box and a few that have been fitted on the floor, Choices wants me to pick a piece, any piece. Then see where it fits. She knows how hard it is for me to toss things away once I have picked them up. She knows I will hold it until I can find a place to make work. I want all the pieces to be here, I want all the pieces to fit, nice and neat. I don’t want to pick up one thats not for me, one that looks pretty but there is no where for me to place it, no where for me to make it work. Choices and I have been playing this game for years, I have a bag of pieces that I never could find a home for in my life.
Still she sits there with hands open and all those pretty pieces laying in her hands waiting….
waiting for me to pick the next one, waiting to see what I do with it.
.
.
I’m just sitting here….

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