i want to hide because my life, if it were a clothesline, would be the one with a sweater dangling by one sleeve, a blanket dragging in the mud, and a sock, unpaired and alone, tumbling to the road with the wind at its heel.
i am a shadow. i burrow deeper within myself and pray that if the other people dont see me, they wont talk to me. i pretend i am the wall, the floor, and we all expect less of me each day. i try not to lose myself, but the shame of always looking at my feet beats me deeper and deeper into the earth, planting me as surely as my mother planted the chilli plants out there.
turning to stone is hard work. first you have to let the anger climb up from deep within you and as it turns over and rises up through your chest, you have to clamp your teeth over and push it back down. then you sort of imagine yourself getting real heavy, folding over onto yourself, getting thick so nothing can reach the spot far inside that hasnt turned hard yet. and you know that if you get it right, you're not so afraid. but for now, i'm sure i didnt get that right.