A Beast by Any Other Name

Is it better to know what ails me?

The malady and its moniker?


To know the reasons for things, for ways of being


To understand, anticipate, cope


Or does knowing give doom the upper hand?

Roll the boulder to the lip of the precipice?


Does it give power to what once may have been a bad mood, an off day, a stressful cycle?


Does it feed the beast –

and destroy the hope that there is an other side to this, an end and new beginning?


A beast that walks in the shadow of that boulder, goading me on . . .

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