Electric Feet and Fear.

A poem about your comfort.

Photo by on

Risk.
I run to risk. As if my feet
have a mind of their own. Whisked
away. None too discreet.

I don’t like the feeling, but
I can’t help it.
Driven by a motor. Watch me strut.
Electric. The air is tinged with static.

Tension in my shoulders.
Because I know it’s around the corner.
Around the corner and I’m only getting older.
Is it risk? Or am I just a performer?

Change only happens when we leave the warm embrace
of our lover called Comfort,
who I misplace.
Comfort left as a last resort.

She had enough of my fear,
risk, electrified feet.
I suppose I’m better off when she is near.
Safety is replete.

I have hope for a greater tomorrow.
I often dive headfirst into risk because
I’m hopeful.
But shouldn’t I pause?

I’m hoping for the best.
Closing my eyes and stepping
into the void. A protest
of that which is confining.

Am I living in my fear? Or confined
by my comfort? She no longer shares
her sweet embrace. But I don’t mind.

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