Crack-The-Whip

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I have an inner bully,

Her name is Crack-The-Whip.

She pushes me from dawn till dusk.

She’s a pain in my right hip.

 

She tells me what to do,

And what is not done yet.

She tells me I am far behind

However far I get.

 

Today I finally asked her,

“Hey, what’s with all the speed?

Is there something that you’re chasing?

Or something that you need?”

 

“Oh, no,” she said and shook her head,

“It’s not about the going.

I’m terrified of what I’ll find

The moment I start slowing.”

 

I knit my brows and scratched my head.

I asked her to explain.

“When I slow down,” she said to me

“I feel my unfelt pain.”

 

Now my eyes got teary.

She never was a bully.

She thought she was protecting me,

And she believed that fully!

 

“Slow is where feelings flow

But good one’s too!” I said.

 

“I don’t care if heaven’s there!

There’s too much that I dread.

 

Loneliness lives there.

As do envy, doubt, and worry.

Guilt, and shame, and failure too,

So I prefer to hurry.”

 

It finally all made sense.

Her logic wasn’t crazy.

She was looking out for me

While I thought I was lazy.

 

“This rushing cannot last,” I said

We need another way.

What if we sit hand in hand

And face the fear that way?”

 

She shook her head. She wasn’t sure.

I saw her quivering lip.

But then she shocked us both, I think.

By handing me her whip.