When I was younger, much older than I am now,
I spent most of my life trying to run away:
Running away from the reality of knowing:
Of knowing exactly who and what I was.
My insides would scream and howl from the pain,
The pain of pretending that nothing was wrong
While I felt my life shattering in pieces before me
Desperately trying to become the man I was running,
Running away from, desperately trying to avoid
Becoming the man I was pursuing so fiercely
And yet realizing that I wanted to become that man
If only, if only, I could avoid the inevitable consequences.
It didn’t work.
I still sometimes feel now as I felt then,\
A snail only halfway out of my shell,
Dragging my house along,
Retreating there at the first sign of trouble,
And slamming the door behind me.
I think though I am out and about more now than then,
Not making the progress I would like to make
But progressing nonetheless.
I don’t shut myself in my house as much
But keep moving forward in spite,
And those who trouble me sometimes find
That the snail can have a nasty temper when crossed,
And a painful, poisonous bite.
I live in hope
That someday I can ditch
The shell entirely.
Wouldn’t that be fun?
May 23, 2011