Pushed.

The craving, the need, the courage of being “freed”

I’m free, but I’m stuck.

I’m a mess, a problem.

In the way, expensive, annoying, and a weight.

I’m stuck, I can’t do what I know helps,

But I don’t have an alternative.

Stuck.

Stuck in an incessant battle between myself and myself.

We fight and we scream, but we’re the only ones that know.

It’s loud in my head

Lots of things being said.

I’ve been pushed.

Pushed to a wall with no simple choices.

Pushed to a corner with no new escape.

The noise and the clamor have leaked out once or twice.

I’m not going to lie, because it doesn’t look nice.

It’s here and it’s there, but I’d say I have paid the price.

So what to do now?

To sit and to sleep?

To think and to weep?

To survive through the writing, yes this, this is how.