all the talking in my head

...
I should be fired, so lowly do I work,
but evaluations say otherwise.
Raving praise drips down the page,
but too much talking twists the facts.
Too much talking presses down,
while crowning imagined failures with glory.

One step forward, seven steps back
while the pep talk fades.
I chant Our Father over and over softly sweet,
until a remembered faux pas sneaks between
Thy Kingdom Come and Thy Will be Done,
filling the pauses like water creeps,
puddle-like, over the river floor.

Between Give us Today our Daily Bread
and Forgive us our Trespasses as We Forgive,
I struggle against the crunch of my bones
wrapped in damp gauze with alum,
that will, while drying, pull taught my toes
under my arch closer to my heel
for a tiny 3" embroidered shoe.

Step on me I say.
Step on my broken foot, climb to my knee,
grab my head, your foot on my shoulder.
I'll stoop down.

Then bind tightly,
keeping appendages crunched,
keeping the will strangled,
keeping the privileges from my reach.

Awaking, I mouth,
Lead us not into Temptation,
knowing now I will not capitulate.
Whispering Deliver us from Evil,
I stop you and stand up.

"Find your own way, not on my back."
I'll kick off cloth rags and stride home.

And I won't step back
when a horse shakes his head.
I'll move into his face, his shoulder;
point my toes towards the legs.
"Move Over Horse."

Move over, I have a need to walk this way.

...