Sunday Slam Poems

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What I Hate Is My Fear, Not You

Lately, I approach you with equal amounts
Longing
And fear.
(When I approach you at all.)
You changed my life for the better,
Carrying me far from the shore
Of a tempermental river.
As time goes on, you are pulling me further into the depths–
Into churning waves, through boiling rapids–
And my fear looms so large
That I try to swim back to the gritty shore…
Not that it was so pleasant there, but I knew it,
Comfortable with the tip of the iceberg, 
and too satisfied with the ‘me’ that I have known.
#

(you are the thinker, but not that which is thunk)
(you are the feeler, but not that which is felt)
(you are not the Self you think you are, or want to be)

#

Pressing palms to the mat, 
Precious pressure.
Where back body meets the mat
Is where love and fear meet.
Eyes closed,
I can see inside,
Where shadows are lilac and black,
And each inner wheel coruscates
With secret light, 
fed with the bellows of every inhale.
I am totally
The questing roots that push
Down from muladhara,
Hungry for stability 
(still, after all these years),
Breaking up the hard ground, 
Before any seeds can grow.

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fear (a series of similies)

i know
only
that you are slippery–
sometimes liquid
(seeping into the crevices)
and sometimes
small and scattered
(like seed beads that richochet,
leaving tiny devastations in their wake)
(that slip into a tender place and stick unseen,
to rankle
and abrade)

i know
only
that you steal my breath–
sometimes grabbing hard
(squeezing guts and paralyzing limbs)
but sometimes
slithering soft
(like an unfurling,
a suffocating ribbon
uncoiling in my throat,
and you stop me in my tracks
able
only
to stare into a cobalt span of sky)

i know
only
that you force a fencing of my heart–
sometimes
with deadening walls
(like sunhard mud brick mortared with reticence)
and sometimes
with hardware and fire
(like a tongue full of blades and rageful pyres)

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