Running

I’ve never liked to run,
But I’m good at it.
I’m fast,
And I’m good at pushing myself.
But I hate it.
I hate the feeling
Of my feet slipping
Beneath me, against pavement,
Never holding space
For longer than a second
Before picking up
And moving again.
I hate the feeling
Of not being able
To get enough air,
So much so
That my lungs cry out
In agony,
Begging,
Pleading with my feet to stop.
But more than anything,
I hate running
Because I prefer strength.
I would rather hold my ground
Than run from it.
I would rather stand
Than dance.
Yet I always find myself running,
Despising my instincts
And praying that next time
I be stronger
Rather than swifter
And able to stand
Without falling
Or fleeing.

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