Surrender sounds romantic, in a way: to fall
under the spell, to let go
into the flood of feelings, to be swept away
and off your feet, relaxing into the relentless torrent.
Maybe someday I will be so trusting
that loosening my grip will be easier and lovelier than
holding on.

For now and for me at least, it is
the historical definition of surrender:
after years and years of fighting this war
against my creator, the master from whom
I retreat, the regime I resist.
Following my heart instead of its engineer
has left me bruised and covered in blood,
but only my own. A child scared
of her own shadow, I have turned away from
light and made an enemy
that is the shape of me, but who I recognize as
somebody else.

It is so hard to believe that if I laid,
at the feet of the one I’ve been beating back,
my curated maps, my armor and weaponry,
I would face not my end, but
open arms.

Originally published in Agape Review.