Anxiety
I know when I haven't been
to the gym in a while that
it's only a matter of time
before I have to gulp down
deep breaths at my desk,
before I feel that vague
aching desire to stretch out
of my clutched skin and
pry open my clenched jaw
and actually activate the
pulsing place inside my
skull that feels capable of
shooting real lasers through
my eyes and laying waste
to my immediate vicinity.
When it hits, I exhaust
myself with all this inward
flexing, this tightening of
the straps that hold me to
my tasks, my self-designed
whipping post, my galley.
I am holding all this potential
energy in place, wrapping
myself like an iron suit
around the scream, the punch,
the grenade, humming with
electricity, shaking on the
surface like a tremor, so
stupid, I know. The bottle
has been shaken. Just go
to the Y, hit the machine
and pop open the top!
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