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.