The thing that sinks

I am full of stones.
Never had the blinders on too tight, mind.
Never didn't see.
Always ready with the theoretical, the ideal,
To alleviate the weight in my gut
Of all the stones I swallowed
And tried to turn, through alchemy, to hope
To a thing with feathers
That would let me grab all the world and float to better things.

Yet I am full of stones
Stones of denial, acceptance, ignorance
With arms outstretched, still down deep
Grasping for theory, for ideas and ideals
As one grabbing for dandelion fluff in the wind
Not recognizing, perhaps,
That I've swallowed too many stones
To get nimble
One can't take flight with that much ballast.
One will only sink. 

I am full of stones.
Indigestion will be the first step
Burning, fiery, unpleasant burps full of denial,
Begging for blinders, even small ones, just for the corners of my vision
Passing will be more painful still
Sphincter-tightening guilt
Ripping awareness 
Unseamed from the nave to th'chops 
Bright, searing knowledge as stones fall out 
And I, fetal, praying to be empty

Empty of stones
Perhaps on the other side I will feel light enough 
To grab that thing with feathers and take the world aloft.
I'll let you know when I get there.
For I am full of stones.

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