stuck.

here is where i step to the left and make my way out of this portrait
it's me, in the sand, on the beach, hair blowing, simplicity flowing, and instead of romping i am
stuck.
sand in my shoes,
full
barely room for my toes.
rocks on either sides of my feet, heavy; serious about their stance.
i am in black and white
my attempt at color is thwarted
my blemishes are hiding and
i'm still as a broken clock

this night will last longer than many
this night will remind me of past nights,
friends in pain, me dug into my rut by hand, by foot, by no fault of mine and by every whim
too much wine, an outburst at the dinner table,
a permanent view of the ocean, who moves more than i ever could
because i'm stuck.
i am in this abandoned hotel of a brain
slinking through hallways of old dusty memories and
collecting rusty room keys like they hold a story that matters
playing with perfume bottles that have long since lost their liquid but still
puff-puff air out with a faint scent of something ladylike

my nails painted, my hair blowing, my perma-stare directed where i'll never go
these stones are my friends
holding my ground with me
weighted and waiting
for me to be unstuck
but there is no other way i know
it is who i am
i am still when it is time for me to move
because who am i without those holding me down?