The Circle of Strife
Location
I’ve let myself become a doormat.
Well, maybe not a doormat that gets stepped on once or twice a day.
No, I’ve become like a paperweight:
Only to be used at the convenience of others.
Only recalled when others see fit,
I sit on the loose-leaf pages of my so-called friends’ lives,
And I strive to hold them together while I’m left to agonize
And wonder:
Hey, you know I’m always happy to help,
But when is the time for me to help myself--
But wait--I’m being selfish.
Yes, I’m here to serve others, so it’s okay if I
Crawl sometimes for the sake of their walk;
I’ll just fall sometimes, or better yet
Throw myself onto the floor
And become a rug for the bottom of their feet.
To ensure their security
And make sure, too, that they never leave
Because without them, there is no me.
Because if I am not here to be used,
Then what else could I possibly do?
I mean, for years I’ve labored, day in and day out
Not a doormat, you see, but a rug near the couch.
So that day in and day out
I’d be waiting faithfully
For my owners to come and step on my face--
But it’s okay.
Really.
Because that’s my purpose, is it not?
To be the doormat, the carpet, or better yet,
The fringe on the edge of a circular rug,
Because no matter how many revolutions I do,
I’m still on the outside of my life.
I’m incapable of reaching the center of my life.
I’m living on the fringe, on the outside looking in
Yet each day I come back to be there for them
I stay on the fringe; no more effort to get in,
I binge on the occasional nods of approval,
And signs of satisfaction, though I pray for removal
From this circle I call life
This endless scope of hope and disappointment;
Of acceptance and abandonment --
This ferris wheel of highs and lows and comes and gos
But only God knows where it’s going from here --
Maybe this life is a record:
Meant to play the same tune time and time again;
To repeat and repeat
And replay and replay
Every high and every low
Every single emotional blow,
And get scratched every now and then
For all who care to listen.
Or maybe this life is a wheel:
Revolving time and time again yet still changing
Location, and orientation, and inflation.
For the terrain of yesterday has caused a strain on the journey of today
Maybe that’s why it’s called a tire.
Because although it takes you to your destination,
It is not immune to occasional inflation.
Yes, even our tires get tired,
But they cannot re-inflate by remaining in the state
That they’ve come to hate.
Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.
So why does it make sense to return to the potholes, and obstacles, and dirt roads of your past?
The course of this life is not certain,
But the past is set in stone.
And if the people by your side tear you down,
It is better to walk alone.
But first, you have to make some changes for yourself.
You can’t inflate a tire if you don’t pump it.
You can’t clean your record if you don’t wipe it.
And you can’t properly clean a rug if you don’t beat it.
So beat it.
Get away from those who hurt you, because you deserve better.