struggle

struggle.

within or without?

i will take without.

at the least there is something to rail against

someone to persuade

and the comfortable righteousness of my own principles.

within is so very different.

i rail against myself.

my principles lie in tatters.

i am cruel.

i am indomitable.

i am unforgiving.

i do not fight fair.

through experience

i know

it comes down to

self re-creation.

not a kind of renewal or rebirth that sounds lovely, painless,

and uplifting.

my reality says

there is no higher plane.

there is the fight.

the struggle.

the mourning that comes with the loss

of the self i once was.

the shrugging into the new self,

trying out its boundaries and limitations

like an uncomfortable suit,

and then, finally acceptance.

this is not to say

that change may not eventually be appreciated,

but the patch is always there in my inner self,

sometimes stronger than that which was removed,

but more often needing extra support, attention,

or special treatment.

i reflect on the life of the scarecrow

patched together from discarded rags,

used shoes,

stuffing and sticks for flesh and a backbone of wood and nails.

he gets recycled in the field, year after year.

perhaps needing a new shirt to hold in the scraps of his body

or to be filled with more substance

in order for his limbs to do their job of menacing the crows.

who was he once?

how does he feel about who he is now?

or does he just accept it,

settle into his new self

and grin?

i think i am like the scarecrow.

patched

molded

worn

rebuilt

stuffed and splinted and stitched.

a spine made of wood and fasteners and grit…

whatever is handy

to ensure it does its job.

it keeps me standing

despite the temptation to fall.

i am left to struggle because the struggle is what there is,

the true make-up of that which holds me together:

sinew and muscle and bone.

the struggle keeps time turning.

but still

it becomes more difficult to stand.