life = fight = flight

my life is a fight. every moment of every waking day i struggle to make it through the end, until i can pretend that my job is just a job, that my job is not me, and i truly am a writer, a dancer, a mother, a teacher, a healer, a lover, a friend, all these things and more i push to the side, and make them abide the mundanities and inanities of dawn's early light, waiting for respite to bring a moment's solace and peace.
my life is a struggle to push against, barriers follow my paths wherever i turn. i push at them, i slide across their sides, i dash around them, i am exhausted by them, and yet, when sleep finally beckons, i reckon that there is more to do, more to write, more to read, more to see, more to hear, more to touch and taste and smell, always more to keep me fighting against the oblivion of sleep, so much so that my brain becomes a muddled, fuddled, duddled mess. my thoughts no longer form straight lines, but instead curve and swerve, forming spirals into labyrinthine thoughts too bold and pure to find my way out of, and suddenly, quite unexpectedly, i find myself outside myself, looking in beneath the surface of my skin, and i take note of the things that i wrote, damning them all back to the hell they came from, wondering at their madness, marveling at their gladness, and i am stopped in my tracks by the awesomeness of the path i have laid out before me, by the grandeur of the trees that line their borders, by the colors of lush life swaying and dancing in the breeze, as the muse and i dance and play along its winding roads of yesterday, and today, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, loosing each other in time, in space, in the words that try to form the spirals into squares and walls of lush growth become cut down into hedges so that others may see into the labyrinth of my mind's ever wandering eyes.