Fetal Position

The cycle continues-
The one in which we regress to fetuses,
Curled up and leeching off a stronger body
That may help us grow and be born again,
Pushing past that stage of developmental fluids
And trying again.
This period of the cycle reeks of failure.
I've regressed to fetus and
Have grown into a child.
We do not always bring with us what we learned before.
It's a sweet and then bitter road.
I slice a little piece off of my reason
When I whimper and curl up like a rejected dog.
Who has rejected me?
Only myself.
The cycle continues-
Some days I'm an adult,
but mostly a child.

4/2008?

Love is the Special Word

I shuffled my feet
Hesitantly at first.
But when I heard
The special word
I marched
Straight forward until I was
Exhausted by my efforts.
I lack trust in the special word.
The special word lacks trust in me.
Contrary and combative, we dance
In the fire, ablaze with passion-
Ate special words like cereal, crunch crunch to
Devour, to absorb to sincerity til our skirts twirl
And swirl in pudding molasses, dragging my trustless feet
To defeat an absent foe. A nonexistent foe.
This foe says the words
And I melt
Embracing
Encasing my flaws into somebody’s web,
When I really should say no.
But when do we learn to trust?
Even more,
When did we learn to mistrust?

6/2010

Cycles

Evenings like this echo childhood.
The house grows dark in the dusk,
Depressed by the sinking glow
Of pinks and gold.
My mind is heavy
And my head aches
With dull wakefulness,
A memory of monotony,
A habitual cycle of dawn to dusk to dreaming
To dawn again.
These two worlds we straddle like prostitutes,
Needing both to survive,
To endure the chaos of the mind.
In the dimness,
A remnant of the daylight pans the sky,
Throws confusing shadows at the wall,
Which then absorbs them,
Grows moldy from their clinging moisture.
My day is gone;
I slept it away
To avoid thinking about what I cannot have,
To dream instead about having what I don’t want.
Asleep in the daylight,
Awake in this dark realm
Where possessions are monstrosities that
Suck out the soul—
Needless, uncaring items,
Unneeded and uncared for,
They say nothing to me and provide false
Truths that bleed across my forehead and
Drip over my eyes.
This cycle will continue as it was before I believed I’d escaped
From its curse.
I never escaped it to begin with,
Only delayed the pain of knowing it exists.

3/2008