Spiral Slide

I.

I yell at myself and fight with a side that is me and is not me all in the same moment
I agonize over what could be a supposed death of that angel that sits on my shoulder
The devil thinks he has a new sand box
Filled with hot wheels, buckets, and plastic dinosaurs
But what he thinks is a play place is actually a sifter
And I catch all the weevils in the flour
I don't like extra protein in my bread

II.

I am placid and calm, directed and comfortably moving
I am irreverently seismic and as inconstant as the wind
I am angry and irritable, my eyes fill with red
I am happy and ambitious, success happens like a Midas touch
I do not want to be what I am
I want to be what I was, am, and will be
But at last I am me

III.

You cannot force me down this spiral slide into a box of wood chips
I can see the puddle at the bottom, brown and murky
It has just rained and the light refracts from the metallic surface
It blinds and heats, and the humidity is palpable
If I sit much longer on top my thighs will burn
Simmering flesh and a sweaty brow
Letting go I slide and the metal grips my skin, squeaking me to a stop