The matador and the fighting bulls

The long lanky lamppost knows that my own precious life is on the line. I am standing on my sweaty feet, taking slow graceful steps on my homeland’s ground. I am a matador waiting for not just one but three fearless bulls to charge at me. My anticipation depends as I hear the tank’s rusty metal chains, moving slowly towards me. I wave my flag as the matador, stopping the three bulls. Pushing forward in my warm dependable comfort of my marching orders, I continue to block these intimidating dark, militaristic tanks. Hearing the wheels imprint the sacred ground, the tank steers to the right initiating this war dance. The tank follows as I wiggle to the right waiting for the dark figure to stop. We then moved to the left and paused for a moment, ending the dance. I hate knowing that this dance is over and I don’t know what moves to perform right now. It only takes one stupid, careless move to lose my life. My body has been surveillance by these bulls and the whole world. There is a dusty cloud formulating in my head while tiny salty droplets falls past my eyebrows down to my mouth. Can I trust myself to have the strength to make this first daring move?

Inside, wrapped gauze I am still undecided in what to do I am unable to sense what these enemies are all about. This is my job, and is following orders. The problem now is I’ve ran out of instructions, I need to follow my own orders. My gut is tangled struggling to instruct me. Clarity final occurred telling me to act on instinct and to throw my emotions aside. I climbed onto the bull, ready to take it down. A voice began to tell me, “ There’s no turning back now. Proceed and do what you NEED and was chosen to do. This is a big mission, all eyes are on you.” The white gauze began to unravel as I sat on top of this tank. I have given my enemy a pair of scissors, freely inviting them to poke emotions, fear, and pain that I’ve lost. This happening consisted of me kneeling on the floor in simple draped garment. My enemies and audience were instructed by me to come on stage and begin cutting until I was nude. Every time an anxious opponent came up to me my heart skipped a beat. I would pray that none would cause physical harm on me. But what is the point of self expression if there weren’t a such thing as taking risks. Life should not be predictable and should be lived in the present. It would be better to take this daring risk to get cut than to not feel anything at all. There is always going to be that someone who makes a bold move. The best thing about life experiences is when they do to you.