Breath

Breathe in. Breathe out. Don’t worry about the punctuation or the words just let them flow out of the mess of the morning if it truly was a mess it is just the ramblings of a tired woman who ran on the treadmill and feels loose and fit or fitter and there is the beating the self up for taking my time with myself stretching out the tight spots, the restrictions that I hold in my body, the places that say you can’t and that make the breathing part of me say What did you just say? Watch me, you fucker. You don’t know ANYTHING about what I can and cannot do, you who sit there cowering in your corner holding court over the world. What do you know about anything but fear and tension and control and the lack of the spontaneous wonder and violence that is creation? Don’t rub me about rushing out the door with Em… It was messy it wasn’t orderly it was life and life is a wonderful messy mess and the more time that I spend trying to create order your way with, no strike that, the more time I spend trying to impress on life my own sense of order the more resistance I feel when I don’t get it right, because I can never get it right, and then I want to quit life instead of just going with the rhythm. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out.

 

Copyright © 2015, Ilana Hulsey Rea. All rights reserved.

 

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