I'm Afraid of my Muscles
I wake up every morning in terror.
Spying the looking glass, I see the freak before me, and I prepare to unleash him on the masses.
Lo, is this fair? Why have I been given this bulging curse?
Yet it is the burden I must bear. It is the price I must pay for my unwavering dedication.
So I try with all of my might to conceal the monster.
I cover him with a sleeveless hoodie and sweat pants, but these robes cannot disguise his disfigurement.
Cantaloupes instead of shoulders. Pythons instead of arms. The neck of a man? Nay, a cheese wedge.
I am the embodiment of simultaneous fear and envy by everyone who looks my way.
The line between a blessing and curse becomes blurred.
As I frantically annihilate my workout, the iron clangs through the halls of this gym as if I were beckoning diabolical demons from the deep.
Angry demons answer, in the form of my pump. I can feel them coursing though my garden hose veins, fueling my gains while making me even yet more hideous to the general population. My scuffle with perfection is over. At least for now.
Gym time complete, the struggle truly begins. Now I must leave my kind to face the mortals.
The other muscle-heads line up to bump my fist; the women give a tearful goodbye as I scoop up my duffle bag.
I leave my sanctuary and waken my Chevy Cavalier, which has been given the awful encumbrance of transporting my massive frame across town.
Yet another empty protein shaker bottle rings hollow as it joins the mass grave of its brethren on the passenger floor.
I have arrived at work, yet I remain still in my car; afraid to walk the lobby.
What have I done to deserve this? A circus freak; a supermodel. A science experiment gone terribly right. The pinnacle of man cast among mortals.
As the day progresses I can feel their stares. I can feel their envy. The women look at me as if I were a totally bangable version of Frankenstein's monster; I cannot fall for their Siren's songs, for they only want me for my gains.
The men know that I am the alpha. They despise me for it, yet they don't dare make an attempt on my throne. My eyes tell them that it is not my fault; yet my muscles cannot tell the same lie.
I must gain asylum. As the evening sun withdraws, I once again retreat to my fortress of solitude...Gold's Gym.
In here the big 45s clang and my fellow primates can feel somewhat comfortable in their tanned, taut skins. This is where I shall remain. This is where I shall grow, exist, and perish, all at once, until my lungs scream for oxygen and the Prince of Darkness within has been vanquished for just one more night.
My existence is the dichotomy of Lucifer himself. On the outside? Fearsome brute. Mammoth colossus. Savage animal. Yet on the inside? Leviathan. Titanous creature. Fiendish barbarian.
I guess those are all kind of the same. Thus is my curse. Everyone I meet fears my appearance. I fear me.
I pray that tomorrow I will wake up and see a man in the mirror. Yet the reality is that I will wake up and see the same terrifyingly beautiful creature that I saw today, and I fear what he may do.
I'm afraid of my muscles.
