On Writing

It would be so much easier just to close the door
On all the characters that have kept me awake at night
That have stolen my attention
Rousing a desire to play God
By deciding their fate
I could lock them in the closet
And never look back
Let them float away as memories
Like letting fog clear away on a sleepy morning

It would be so much easier to hop off the bike
Because my knees are sliced and bloody,
Legs tired from pushing and carrying weight
I could shut the bike away in the garage
And ignore the freedom once felt
As the wind greeted my face
And I tested my courage
— -Look no hands!

It would be so much easier to stop the obsessive walk
Down a path that might lead to nowhere
As I get lost traversing unknown territory
Often to find myself picked up and placed
Right back at start
The signs have been ripped from their post
What is the speed limit on this barren terrain?

It would be so much easier to release the rope from hands
That are red and raw from holding on
A tug-of-war with what or whom?
To replenish energy
Or spend it elsewhere
To beg the person on the other end just let me win
As I stare at a familiar face
The same one I see looking in the mirror

It would be so much easier to give my fingers a break from dancing
Across letters on a keyboard
And forget how gratifying it is
To watch it all come together with the birth
Of one tiny letter
Because lately, they’ve been hovering
Suspended in the air with no place to land
(Or what I imagine to be)
No place good enough to momentarily settle
Before the paralyzed indecision
(No matter how illusionary)
Seems to creep back up again

It could be so much easier
Or else it would be the hardest thing I’ve ever
Decided not to do
To bury a pang to have a need met
Like ignoring hunger

And just as dangerous

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