It’s a game of tug-of-war.
A part of me holds each end.
It’s a constant fight…
Between wanting to be seen or to hide.
To indulge or to restrict.
To act or to sleep.
To control or be controlled.
To be loved or to be left alone.
To live or to die.
The rope is taut.
Tensed.
Being pulled evenly from both sides.
If either team lets go…
The other will fall.
But both sides are me.
If either falls, I will feel the bruise.
My own head will hit the ground.
The scraped knee will sting my heart.
But the game has to end.
My strength wanes.
I now only have enough to pull a single side.
And the rope wears thin.
Eventually, it will break in the middle.
Frayed, unraveled, broken.
But a severed rope might set me free.
From this unending game.
Of tug-of-war.
Write to Live 