Ready to leave

One foot watching the doorway, the other counting the exits. 

I catalog the words you’ve said, listening for confirmation of personal doubts. 

This you could be anyone, as it’s an approach…a guiding line for my interactions with every “you” that could ever be. 

Any existence that finds its way to a sticking point in my orbit is subject to these hesitancies. 

I’m beginning to notice a spasm in the crick of my neck from keeping an eye out for signs I’ll be left. 

The marks in my hand from holding on to hyper-independence are growing more permanent. 

Those little crescents resist the display of fear. 

I wouldn’t want to give way to the looming doubt which has discarded my shadow for a much larger version of itself. 

Can one build muscle from being unable to relax? I wonder if that’s what this soreness is all over my body. 

I’m told I hold myself with confidence. 

I always say it’s actually chaos that has become so overwhelming it began organizing and has now taken over my will for its own.