To exist should be so easy, to be should be the natural state but there is a disconnect between who we think we are and who we think we should be. To be, to be, to be. To be for who or what or in what terms? I seemed to have lost the ability to be in the most basic ways. To reach and create but to be distant at an alarming rate from me. I have forgotten how to be. Or maybe I have never known, have always been slightly off kilter, a contortion of the body.
The anxiety of existence keeps me from catching up with me. It keeps its claws rooted tightly into my stomach, closing my throat, causing phantom pains to rise from the base of my spine. My body reacts more than I would like it to, my body more honest than my mind could ever be. About this anxiety, to be to be to be? More of a question than an action, stuttering to a stop, to be. I can’t seem to wrap my head around to be. To be is now five paces ahead of me. I could never run quite fast enough to catch up to be. Always distant, always forward. Always future. Always not me. To be.
These words catch. To be. And perhaps its because the comfortable aspects of my skin have faded. To be. To be. To be. Let me be. I’m growing into me still, to be. Years pass and maybe this anxiety will fade with time, has faded with time, to be. I catch up to be. Four paces ahead. To be.