Confused. Impatient. Unintelligible. I run around and around in my head wondering where I will go and where I will stop. If not stop, then explode. I know myself and if I am right, then I will explode at any moment. I can feel is winding me tighter and tighter. The effort is strenuous and tiresome. Perhaps the full weight of an average adult body is not enough. A blue whale is a better gauge of weight that I feel is keeping me twisted out of human form. I cannot breathe on some days because the heaviness that I feel on my chest. This imperfect form of bad decisions their consequences. Fear and loneliness. Aggression and hate. Swirled together in a vat in my own skin just waiting to burst. But the scary part is that it never does. I can somehow take the ravages of my coiled self. I can take the pressure and possibly the pain. I can take it all. I am a woman coiled. I am not a snake or a metal spring or a demon figure. I know that depressurizing that coil is recipe for a a detailed mess and I am aware of the clean up procedures. It is one thing to know the procedures and another to follow them. The coil gets worse when I mention rules and regulations. Not the typical noise of the law of the land, but the moral laws of human decency and of religious worry. The unspoken laws. The varied laws. The abstract laws. The laws that are still important enough to die for. Strained and contemporary laws. The laws that give hushed voices a name. I cannot control their power over me. Their uncertain strength is too unrecognizable. I cannot be that keen to knowing everything and that is why I know nothing. Inexperienced and lonely in my own group. Unvaried and questioning. The swirl repeats again. Uncut and smooth it goes. Crushing me, making me smaller and smaller with unknown certainty of where my limit will expose itself. Why do I think that it is a spiral of downward activity? Why can’t I change the trajectory towards the sky? But, then again, who has heard of blue whales swimming in the sky?