“We’re having problems” The words fell from my mouth and remained
suspended in the air in front of me; I could part the letters like
curtains.
Daylight broke when the response shone through, eviscerating the deafening silence with a few short syllables.
“Then work’m out” you stated simply, and I nodded, taking and basking in this brand new information.
I certainly had problems and was used to taking care of them myself. Why should this time be any different?
As much as I’d liked to believe that everyone’s not “like that” I knew
that truly everyone is to some extent. I also knew it was always up to
me to just “work’m out” for everyone.
I’m sick of being the world’s
largest walking pin cushion. I’m tired of being poked, prodded, and a
receptacle of harmful, life-sucking things.
But in all this, I
realize I have a purpose and a responsibility. I must continue; I must
push forward and move ahead as a powerful force in a sea of apathy.
I
am the sudden wind tunnel on an autumn day, blowing your dress up to
your chest and reddening your cheeks with an angry gush. I am a wayward
squirrel in the road, causing you to swerve from your destined path and
live for a moment. Catch your breath. I am bird shit in your hair and
sand in your eyes. I am a cardboard papercut under your finger nail and
the coffee table tripping you in the night and bruising your shins. I am
a force in your way, and you will make your way around me. You will
climb this obstacle and push forward. You will pull your dress back down
and stop your car in its tracks. You will wash your hair and flush your
eyes. You will bandage the wound and ice the bruises. You will live and
you will be okay.
You will work’m out.
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