Petrified by possibility

I carry around fear, the burden of
internalized frights because
there could be something
growing inside me.
And I don’t want it,
not now, please, not now.
Let it come in due time.

Life revolves, life twists
and turns;
life, my life, depends
on one drop of blood,
just one drop.
Assure me that things
aren’t about to change
so drastically I won’t
know how to cope–that
I will be swept into
a maelstrom of doubt,
anger, sadness.
Maybe if it is the case,
I’ll know that joy that comes
upon the sight of my beloved’s
face and know that he is the
strength I must draw from.
And then the face that will be
his, and mine, will be implanted
in that of which we have made.
I will look down and mingle
happiness with fear.



It is morn.
There is a god that I pray to
in which I don’t even believe.
A god who won’t protect me.
A god who I can’t even say.
There are words to accept,
but only in name.
I give my soul to a lord with
no heart and no face.

Here is my absolution, my confession
of sin by diving in waters cold and
standing before crowds of faces
I’ve known since birth.
Here is my restitution; I have
pleased those who cared
to see me walk into the arms
of God. But it is a god
who remains silent
and a god of crackers and juice. Later,
I spit the blood and body from my mouth.