from behind the curtain.

[childisgone]

Hrmph.

i am bound by these words that i use to confound meaning
in the world i have found to be my own. i am trying to feel
solid ground beneath me through a sheath i have wound around
me over years and years of feeling so alone. i wonder
very briefly if anyone could neatly shear away this sheet
of self-doubt and disbelief that completely keeps me
shielded from the life that would surely meet me if only
i could find balance on the feet that hold like stone.
i am weighted by these worries and i structure countless
flurries of words into stanzas to create a story that hurries
me along and prevents me from thinking too strongly of the
things that have wrongly occurred and don't belong in this life.
i recount strife and grief as another's burdens in the belief
that disguising myself in third person will exorcise the pain
that is rife beneath the breastbone and that the stains will be
lifted and i will be gifted with the weightlessness I could only
feign before, but this freedom is impossible to attain under
the falsity of another's name. so i strain in the attempt,
however vain it may be, to ascertain meaning and obtain a sense
of who i may be by retaining my identity within the stories
that i weave. i leave my inhibitions behind with faith in
my own volition and a recognition of what is possible to achieve
in the acceptance of who i might find myself to be.