So Tired of Running

So tired of running every now and then.

Each time I saw the mess – myself – I ran

and hid. Alone, in darkness, going down

the endless streets of my own soul’s ghost town,

and meeting beasts, undecorated, eye to eye,

and seeing how much I need to purify,

reveal, digest, transform, accept and love –

while knowing for a fact that all above

will scare almost everyone away –

because, who’d want to smell, even if briefly, this decay,

and see the dirty spills, the goo, the nasty puddles on the ground,

and hear stifled sobs, the weakling’s squeaks – the cleaning sound? –

I’d choose to not expose my pain, not till the work is done

and balance is restored between my happy self and this dark one,

and, not explaining anything to anyone,

I’d run.

Exhausted,

tired of hiding,

I’d still run.

And here we are again. Under a rock,

with chains on doors and heavy-duty lock.

But learning: there’s no need to be afraid.

Just keep my own light on and walk straight in the shade.

These beasts are me – my own “declined.” Betrayed.

Run not away but towards. To their – to my – aid.