Off the Walls

You sit in your seat, bouncing off the walls. “How is that possible?”, one would ask.

You sit, or you would seem to, yet you bounce all over room, shaking, maneuvering, bouncing. You can’t calm down, you can’t come to. Anxiety grips you.

You shake, you clatter and clank.

Why is it all worth it, you ask? The secret lies between the lines. It’s worth it because you want it.

To write, to live, to love.

You wish to feel safe, yet safety comes in numbers.

One. The clothes in which you wear.

Draped over you like a cloak, a shield. Warming you from the colds of the world, the frigid fear that grips you day-by-day.

Two. In the door you close.

You close the door to the room, drowning out the sounds of the world, barring others from entering, from speaking, from badgering you with any word you wish not to hear.

Three. In the music you seek.

Phones set to your ears, echoing sounds with soothe whether they are harsh, calm, mellow, or rugged. Not only do they alone soothe the mind, but to drown out the sounds of the outside, the world, the workplace, the schoolyard. These are the most vital of your count, the most important of your guard. They enable you to delve into another world, formed within your imagination, through the images, people, voices you create from the tones transported from speaker to eardrum.

In all, you feel safer. The shaking stops, your mind calmed, your soul refilled.

You slip into dreams, of fire, of gods, of kings, so the next day you may awake, to brave the world once more.

To bounce once more, off the walls.