Updated: Oct 11, 2021
I’ve been lingering at the edge for awhile.
And in spite of things.
In spite. In spite.
To spite things. I continue in the state of things. Going onward into a state of unknowing and uncertainty. Wondering aimlessly if I’m just drifting.
I’ve been standing at the threshold of things, hesitating and ruminating, wondering if the place I’m going is better than the place I’ve been, wondering listlessly if I’m at the edge of me. I push ahead only to fall behind again.
I create in me a villain sometimes, feeling that I’m a controversy for wanting more, for expecting everything. I have a propensity for provocation and I drive maniacally into the things that make me not good but great, forfeiting a piece of me. I leave it behind. So that I might stand instead at the edge.
I can push away all the doubt and pain I’ve ever felt.
Feeling that maybe I may be beyond such things.
I’ve been lingering at the edge for awhile pushing forward, pushing onward, only to find that in the climb the suffering comes in a mangled plea to become for at least a moment the greatest.