Not A Warrior

I wrote this in January of this year.  A turning point.  I am amazed how often lessons may need to be repeated. 

Living in self imposed servitude

Denying my best impulses

Giving in to the path of least resistance,

Which turned out to be the most difficult of all.

But at least I was not alone.

The Fool, I was.  The Fool I embraced.

Moth to the flame.

Bugs on the windshield.

My place in the world so small

So unbelievably insignificant.

My feminist persona kept them fooled

Indeed kept me in the dark

I wasted time and years and heartbeats

Because I could not face myself.

My fear of the wide world,

How would I survive?

I was the queen of bravado

Masking the frightened child inside.

when I confessed my enslavement,

she asked “Why? You’re an intelligent woman.” 

Monumental shame rose hot on my face.

Intelligence has nothing to do with self-flagellation.

I will not repeat the past,

encumbered by a lover who promises paradise,

(who can do that for anybody?) and delivers nightmares.

Time to find my own land of lessons and gifts.

Time for me to stand up, to walk

1,000 miles in the wilderness

with ragged boots and small provisions.

Kick my ass, will you?  Kick it hard.

Show me the terror and the beauty

We all possess, the strength we must earn.

Fucking boot camp.  Boot camp for Life.

Sign me up.

I want to be a warrior.