by Grace C. Przywara

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. 

Grace C. Przywara received an English degree from the University of South Carolina. Her poetry has appeared in Ekstasis Magazine and is forthcoming in Rise Up Review, and has placed multiple years in contests hosted by human rights organization Rehumanize International. Grace currently lives in Aiken, South Carolina.

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