"It hurts, sometimes more than we can bear.  If we could live without passion, maybe we'd know some kind of peace.  But we would be hollow.  Empty rooms, shuttered and dank.  Without passion, we would truly be dead"
-Angel, Buffy the Vampire Slayer

Written about five years ago now - I was taking a kick boxing/aerobics class at the local gym and after class one night, this is what spilled out of me.

Fists flailing, I crash through the night
Rage flaming from my body
As I fill the room
With my anger

Finally empty
My energy spent
I lay down and rest
My head on the ground

My breathing slows
And I am calm
I strip off my clothes
And head to the showers.

I LOVED kick boxing.  It was taught by this butchy muscular woman who had so much energy it was contagious.  I've been thinking about it since I found the poem in a folder full of various arts that I did in highschool.  When I was in class, there was nothing but the firm lines I extended my arms and legs into, pushing the energy through those lines to do the most damage to my opponant.  It didn't matter that I was doing poorly in gym, or that my step-dad had thrown another frying pan at me.  I could forget about it all when I was there.  I miss it.

So I'm thinking I need to polish off my gym clothes, suck in my gut and head down to Walnut Grove for class.  Who's with me?

This is my journey...
Want to come along?