push away without letting go

Native Artifacts used for fishing -
Museum of Civilization, Gatineau, QC

Pushing. Pushing with a force unlike any other, you push away while still holding on. You poke, being sure to make your presence known. To you this is a game, a mere rivalry that you've conjured, one of your own creation. An arsenal of silence. A mind game that floats in and out, never fully retreating, being sure you make your presence known, that you don't find yourself amongst the forgotten; Making certain that you're heard. The threat is alive.
What draws you back causes you a discomfort you cannot ignore. As much as you tell yourself you must walk away, letting go does not come easily. 
Drawing you in, making you feel a force of emotion that is undeniable; there is a part of you that enjoys the reminder of what it is to feel so immensely. It makes you itch, it is that which makes you crave a spot in the light, casting shadows of confusion and turmoil that only sting - a pain that lingers without any hope.
Without a clear stance in the direction you will take. You act selfishly, impulsively; without sympathy, dry of honesty, and rid of respect. For fear of giving into the pull, you push, flailing yourself in a fight to escape, spitting your words and making a scene; attempting to detract attention from the desires that wont escape you and the guilt of denying yourself that which would please you and soothe your mind. You try to deny the existence of this power you feel that consumes you, that fills your head and tugs at your heart.
There is something missing; A reality that pains you. You secretly pine for the piece that you've lost; A security that makes you insecure. Trying to gain control, you push your thoughts to the wayside, keeping your sights set forward. What you cannot see, or hear, touch, or taste, you can ignore. But you keep on fighting, for it is not that easy.
Expressing your devotion, the love and the passion you have found in what you have to anyone who will listen. Playing your cards with precision out of fear of losing, even if it isn't all that you wanted, it is still something. Looking for the answer, the filling for that hole is without use. You search for a solution, and as you front your attitude of hatred and resent, you still grasp on. Searching for even the tiniest of pieces; those fragments that fill that spot that was once satisfied but that now sits empty, panging with a hunger that can only be soothed by the specific element it craves.
You grasp to secure a hold on what you've tasted but can no longer touch. To remember the feeling, and to hold onto that feeling. Because you don't lose. You cannot lose.
Trying to find a place of comfort, a familiarity that was once there; it was felt throughout you, conjured by the emotions that you allowed yourself to feel, to share, and show. You speak loudly, creating a front while keeping yourself hidden, that part you're too afraid to share, to speak aloud. Unable to grasp all that you want, you slither back and fight to convince yourself that you have all that you need. You know what you want. No matter the tactics that you adopt, regardless of words spoken, and the tarnishing of truths, there is no hiding from your own. The ones that haunt you, the daggers that jab as a reminder, a conscience that lingers, one that would be easier to ignore if only you could forget how it made you feel.