on being yelled at

In real time I am processing and at the same time producing words.

I am surrounded by words, thoughts, feelings, intentions, and the invisible yet somehow tangible ocean of emotion flowing all around from the others in the room, from me.

She is not happy with me in the moment.

She fishes for support to silence me, suppress me.

I press up against the wall she is building and poke at it with my words.

She changes her tactics and tells me this is not what we’re talking about, the direct approach.

Her cheeks begin to flush and I suddenly realize this is not something I will win.

She jumps up, rushes out the room and orders me to follow and I do.

It is a rushing river of anger in her that will not subside, will not be forded, it must only be survived.

She stands, door open to the room of listening ears, and yells.

I am embarrassing her, if I do not want to be on the team, I can leave.

The terror of going too far, crossing some line into a dangerous place, fills me.

I tremble, I weep, I apologize profusely, I fear, I shrink.

I am drowning, losing the battle against the riptide, I am powerless.

I concede, I deflate, I cower.

I am surrounded by words, thoughts, feelings, intentions, and the invisible yet somehow tangible ocean of emotion flowing all around from her, from me.

In real time I am processing and no longer producing words.