A Stand


I thought taking a stand was more difficult, more defined
it sounded like a complex strategy
like something I needed to do research in
to have lessons, talents, tools
I thought you had to be loud and confident and erudite and know how to back things up with impressive lists of facts and figures
I thought you needed to have self defense moves and think fast and always always always know the answers
I thought you needed to be strong and move strong and feel strong and
not cry when someone hurt you
never fumble
never fear
for a long lifetime I took no stand
I took blame
the fall
the high ground
for granted
took some steps back
took a lot of guilt, heaped it high on my plate convincing myself that to choke it down one more time wouldn’t kill me
then, unknowingly, took some other small steps
without a direction
without realising
and watched a small light growing
until it finally shined bright enough that I could see the writing on that wall
see it and believe
and maybe
I could stand
for just one unremarkable moment when I didn’t apologise
didn’t rush to placate
to smooth
when I stood looking at a raging face and didn’t automatically accept fault
met eyes and didn’t flinch
inside, perhaps, I was a mass of writhing but…
I still stood
making a stand even if nobody could tell
even if nobody else knew it
It was a stand.
It was a start.


About chimerapoet

I write. I write a lot. A. LOT. There are times I am half blind with a sentence ricocheting off the walls of my stupid, cant be shut off to save my life, brain. I am miserable until I get it down on paper. Punch it up a bit. Usually cross out half of it. And then breathe. Relax. Only to do it all again..... But I just thought that was me. How I am. Not a writer....noooo...not me. Writers are.....writing people. People Who Write. REALLY write. Write things that matter. All grown up very important things. Not.....me. I am just a scribbler of sorts. And I was/am content with that....if it's true, well then....a scribbler am I. Until the thought wormed its way in to my brain (the furtive sneaky bitch) that maybe...just maybe...that is writing. My style. My strange way. But....still writing. So here I am at the dance. Not sure I know any of the moves and the music is entirely mine. But.....only one way to find out. Would you care to join me?
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3 Responses to A Stand

  1. chimerapoet says:

    Reblogged this on Chimera Poetry and commented:

    About a year ago….

  2. debra says:

    I see some of myself in your words, some of my life. This is a remarkable piece of writing and touches deep and makes us see that we can take a stand against anything… one small step at a time. Peace ❤

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