The Runner
If ever a frailty should be rued,
then my emotional resistance of
those who hold my affection dearest
to them, is the sin that equates my soul
with the essence of a Hitler, and condemns
my name to the highest degree of infamy,
While my heart longs to be understood, my
fear of abandonment dictates my legs to gain
distance as each loving gesture is offered in
repetition, Persistently they reach, only to be
disregarded, and embody me within my shame,
Friends and family alike, endure the coldness
of my introverted haven, staring into my eyes
in hopes of disconfirming the projected emptiness
that flows from actions, words, or lack of both,
As they hurt from me, I scream for them in silence,
A deafening continuous stream of soundlessness,
that elevates my withheld pain from ache to harrowing,
Yet they can only assume the contents of this confession,
For my words go directly from mind to paper, and
never see the eyes of those who need to know this tenderness,
To express such powerful statements and risk the familiar
sting of neglect or abandonment once more, is a fear that
surpasses every shameful tear, haunting my thoughts as
a reminder that lives on insomnia, thus I remain devoted
to a faithful vow of solidarity that keeps me sane and sheltered,
Moving at a constant pace, racing against my own fright, holding
every term or phrase of endearment within, and running from a
past that will not be relived by my decree, Alas, with mortal lungs,
mechanical legs, and a heart that lies somewhere between the two,
I run,
for and from,
the feeling I desire most....
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