Delicate

Caught between the sand
and a sharp place
I lay my clothes. I lay them, they don't drop because I like to control things and I don't want clutter. I feel myself detest myself for my pedantic nature. I continue to be pedantic.

There in that space
I imagine something
quite different to this. I picture a world where the clothes fall, and the journey feels simple yet interesting. Would that mean giving up the fight or overcoming it? The fight to be constantly knowing, what may happen next, why did it happened, how and when will it happen?

Over-thinking, I think, is natural.
I'd like to think I'm natural.
So here we are,
I'm locked inside my head and you're there and I'm here. One of my stages, frightened and small, realising I'm too hard on myself. I am strong and organised and competitive and controlling. I overcompensate, as you can see, yet nervously shake when in the (face to face) company of an intrigued party. When did I end up here?

Caught between the sand and a sharp place, no more or less me. The weaknesses haven't left - I'm still too curvy for my liking, less naturally intelligent than I'd like, I'm forgetful. Don't mind these little things, little imperfections. I need to sleep. Sorry but I'm giving you waffle, not to be confused with the blue variety.
Goodnight.