past the point i always stop,
until there was more behind me than in
front.
until my legs fell off
but didn't.
until i was sure i would die
but instead
was more alive than i've been in weeks.
until there were
no problems (to fix)
no decisions (to make)
no hurt (to ignore)
no insecurity (to fake)
no one around except
shakira and jillian michaels.
i ran
to here:
the place that's
hard to be at
impossible to leave
inevitably holding on for dear
life,
the kind i should be living to the
fullest,
full.
i ran
until i forgot
until i remembered
until it was quiet,
past ok
past fine
straight to the best
(only)
Mariela Cosentino
that ever lived,
automatically perfect due to lack of
competition.
i ran
outside myself
beside myself
until i caught up,
lapped the failures,
feeling good.
really, really good.

At the risk of being a
corny
pop-song-quoter,
I'm going to
change the voices in my head--
make them like me instead.