Drawn tight, held in.
Don’t want to disturb it.
Breathe and …
But still they hold in,
My shoulders refuse to settle,
they hold my tensions so well.
All of the stress of the day
Embodies itself in that space between
The base of my neck and the base of my ribs.
It is as if my shoulder blades
Want to be released from their tight cords
Holding them in,
Keeping them from loosening up.
Can they hear it in my voice?
Does it change the way I speak
As I swivel my arms around,
Swing my head back and forth
Trying to loosen the sinews.
Keeping my shoulders back and my head straight,
You might think it is merely good posture.
But really, if you felt them,
You would know they were twisted so tightly.
And so I ache.
Maybe next time I’ll get it done before the last moment.
Maybe next time I’ll say the right thing.
Maybe next time I’ll be able to understand what you mean.
Maybe next time.
But probably not.
I’m not that good.
And all this tension is keeping me bound.
So I am bound to do the same thing again.
I can let go.
Sometimes the tension releases.
Sometimes I let my voice fly
And as it soars over me
In spite of me,
I can relax
And release what binds me.
If only for a moment.
I sink back down into my skin.
And I feel the fingers drawing over me again.
Tracing the lines of each new stress.
Across my neck,
Trailing down my spine.
To grasp it firmly once again.