Carrying on a dislike is like carrying around a rusty axe-head in my pocket. That bare wedge of iron. Without a handle.
It’s heavy. I ignore it.
It bangs bruisingly against my thigh when I want to jump up, when I turn suddenly, when jostled into motion.
But if I reach in, rooting around to bring it to light, I cut my fingers on its sharpened edge.
I keep sharpening the edge.
Is the problem the sharpness of the axe-head or that it has no handle? And getting a handle on it, what would that do?
Wreaking , or clearing?
Swinging wide and away: A wider swathe of damage? Or an opened path?
Who am I anymore?