Prison (written on 3/9/15)

The brain can become the prison, the dictator, the control freak, the ghetto.

It’s so hard to drive, sometimes just even to walk, or work out, or just to chill.

I remember my obsession as a kid, of never losing control. And what was so afraid of doing?…The options frighten me still. Looking back there was a whole lot of anger, a tremendous storm that was squished by the brain, a beast raging in chains…

Is it gone? Or is my mind perched on a volcano, and an instant deadly explosion and- I would just like to live, please. To drive on autopilot, windows open, the soothing rythm of motion…to fill my mouth with words and wring them out like laundry, effortlessly, the water drops flying in the sunlight, a presentation, my thoughts unfiltered….To weep perhaps- like the cutting of a grapefruit, and juice squirting sweet and messy….

But it its hard to unlearn what took years to perfect: Loss of control is dangerous. You cannot vouch for yourself, can’t vouch for anything…You hold a sweet secret sorrow in you chest, the candy of your youth.

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