“I let the beast in too soon, I don’t know how to live
Without my hand on his throat; I fight him always and still
Oh darling, it’s so sweet, you think you know how crazy
How crazy I am
You say you don’t spook easy, you won’t go, but I know
And I pray that you will
Fast as you can, baby runfree yourself of me
Fast as you can
I may be soft in your palm but I’ll soon grow
Hungry for a fight, and I will not let you win
My pretty mouth will frame the phrases that will
Disprove your faith in man
So if you catch me trying to find my way into your
Heart from under your skin
Fast as you can, baby scratch me out, free yourself
Fast as you can…”

Fast As You Can – Fiona Apple

It’s often said that with age comes wisdom, that time heals all wounds, that we grow and mature…

I suppose that’s how it’s supposed to play out, but I can’t say that holds completely true for myself.  With every step forward. I find myself falling three backwards, or so it seems.  With every kind gesture, I find myself fearibng the day I spitefully act towards the giver, shoving them forcefully back with words so harsh they wish they hadn’t tried, all the while finding myself choking on and swallowing my foot, hoping the Heimlich fails this time.

Such venom from such supposedly pretty things is nature’s way of being sneaky, of fooling us all.  Is this natural then, or am I struggling to force it into a box, compartmentalize it neatly, and call a spade a diamond?