Within My Head

There are men in my head,
funny little men
wearing spandex
plastered to their chests,
and short shorts,
running around in circles,
breathing heavily.
They run in circles,
just in circles,
running
in their spandex
all day
trying to compete for my attention.
They push past each other,
running faster and faster until
One stumbles, falls,
slamming me right in the temple,
hard.
He pushes himself up,
uses my temple as a support,
(I wince)
rubs his head, brushes off his round tummy,
wipes the sweat running down his apple face
and waits, trying to catch his breath.
“Run along now, Melancholy.”
And he gives me a pained look,
a disbelieving look,
but I shake my head
and I tell him, “Not today,”
as Pride pushes past him for another lap,
grinning up at me.
But I ignore them today,
them and all the others
and look for that little man
who's busy running around in circles
breathing heavily,
running
in his spandex,
unaware that he has pushed to the front
because he doesn't look back to see that
he has passed Weariness, Doubt, Fear, Apathy.
And sure enough--
scrawny limbs,
hunched shoulders,
trying to find his footing and rhythm--
there's Hope,
leading the pack of those
funny little men
wearing spandex
plastered to their chests,
and short shorts,
running around in circles,
breathing heavily.