Self Assurance

I get restless. With it comes a necessity to shed the anxiety. Over what? Preconceived notions, dwelled thoughts, aggravated emotions; everything is pent up. So I vent. I walk. I walk far enough that by the time I get home I'm too tired to care anymore. Too tired to be restless, too spent to know anything other than the desire to calm my palpitating heart and ease myself into a delirious state of sleep. Where the dreams come, the restless dreams that I wake from to feel more spent then when I fell under the covers the previous evening. It's hard to understand why I feel this way. I never felt this way before. But now that it's here I don't know how to get rid of it except to walk. Walk, forever. Anywhere. Everywhere. Somewhere, just to get away. I leave it behind in a catwalk linking two crescents together.

This catwalk is full of memories.
The month-old puddle cradles algae,
Broken, fragmented, and grey-green;
An indication of the grudges I keep.
The fruit of my emotions lay in disarray,
The people of my life come and pick them.
One takes a bite and discards the bitter core,
Another pulls the juice inside their eager mouth
Carrying it with them to savor the aftertaste.
Either way, fruit is left behind to rot.
Anyone walking through my catwalk
Tastes it in the air; the overripe decomposition
That describes how sour my feelings have turned.

A sewer drain, too high to take the puddle,
Stands dry and desolate; an analogy for the
Strain with which I try to harbor my grudges
While ignoring the fact that inside me I contain
The ability to dispel them completely.

Fuck, how I hate this isolation in the catwalk.
Because of my rotting fruit, people are put off.
They don't pick the delicious ripeness, which drapes
And tries to tempt fingers, lure them to wrap
Around a hearty apple. The smell, heavy
and hearty, is at odds to my perfect fruit.
The apples of my eyes. The keys to my soul.
They will ripen on the bough and inevitably,
Fall and die with their kin.
On the ground
smeared,
brown,
ruined,
& rotten.

Even the most delicious of memories,
Can decompose with the promptings
Of a begrudging heart.

I'm so tired right now. Not because I walked all through the north-end tonight, but tired with myself. I can't wait for tomorrow so that I can prepare for the next week. I will study, finish my assignments, and buy everything for Tuesday this weekend. I will prove to myself that this restlessness can be driven aside. I won't let these feelings control me as they have before. I'm not weak. I can and will be strong.