of these stories,
save me from the crazed crack mazes,
save me from wandering, once again,
down these tired paths
to their mindless ends,
living these same frames
over and over, reaching the same conclusions
There is no need to live like this —
if I don’t like where these paths end
I don’t need to start down them.
If I don’t want to dwell in miry stuckness
I can refuse to take it in
If I want to live in light,
this is where I must begin.
Those worn out stories
can tell themselves to themselves.
It isn’t blindness
to lift my head,
it isn’t cheating
to choose a different place to play.
©Wendy Mulhern
September 2, 2017
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