Oh Safety, Who Are You?

A free verse reflection.

Being safe is being with Safety.

Being safe, we need to part ways. It’s time.

I suppose we could grow together as friends. The ones you call once in a while, the ones you never get to know good enough so that you preserve a proper, formal appearance.

A serious business partner, for serious advice.

I can’t stand her; she talks too much. Always telling me what to do, who to talk to, where to go. A real parrot.

She’s great sometimes, but she has become a control freak.

I knew about her before meeting her. How appealing she is, how embracing and assuring. I am in no position to judge her, but she is a bit promiscuous at times. I find so many people around me that have been with her.

We are like bugs flying to her light touch.

I can’t say I am not jealous. She is always between me and others. She does not let me take my chances because she is always with us.

She’s the eternal third wheel.

This is not a simple rant; I owe her so much. She has kept me childless, healthy, sane, and independent.

But somehow an uninteresting, predictable algorithm.

Sometimes I leave to the bar without telling her, I take Bukowski with me. It drives her nuts.

I ask myself behind her back: Being safe of what? Of whom? I have embraced her paranoia, perhaps too

much…

Safety got me on her grip, she does not let go easily

Being safe, is this another term within the sphere of social representation? Do you identify as ‘being safe’?

Safety has been ignored too many times, with terrible consequences. Her maternal instinct to protect only becomes stronger, authoritarian.

[Un]luckily, not everyone gets to be with her, listen to her advice. Some wish to be with her, I want to say goodbye for a while.

Those who are not used to her find other means to make up for their mistakes, stories within their permanent scars, waiting to be printed.

Those who are safe learn from their stories without living them. Words lose their weight.

Safety only likes beautiful things; she knows pain too well to let me have it. She makes me cold and resourceful.

Safety forgot about my body; she prefers ideas.

Safety’s politeness lets us be with each other, yet I am not myself.

Safety is expensive, she’s high maintenance.

Some mornings she’s away, in the small, dancing clouds.

Then comes back, freezes the lakes, kills the tarpons.

By Saul Carrera