Physical Therapy

I am combative by nature.

My shoulders form a shield,

turtlelike in essence,

a hideaway hole in practice.

To fight is not to flee

and to flee can’t be counted

as a fight, yet,

there’s something to be said

for those who learn to

fight with the stroke of

a pen, in-between the flip-flapping

of pages turned in every

fossilized footprint in the sand —

permanently fading.

It’s quicksand and I’m

stuck, the only escape a

tensed tendon between

the beaten path

and a shielded muscle

of stressed hope.

 

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