I avoid confrontations
because I’m afraid
They will leave or abandon me.
I have been taught this
with improbable diligence
I may be physically harmed
or a segment of me killed
by the innate sense that I am wrong
to exist or be or live or think
or speak my truth
It’s what hurls me away from
It hurts my heart to watch the news.
It makes me feel very alone.
The Grief is a place I live
where the walls are papered with used tissues and broken hearts.
It’s not my favorite place,
but it functions as a place to rest
with the heaviness that the world insists I pay attention to.
It is incomprehensible that as each year passes,
life reels forward
whether regretted or not
Whether embracing joy wholeheartedly,
or rejecting neglected needs to prove an unobtrusive being,
reborn time after time as the clock hands race onward.
Each life lived scattered on the zephyr’s of sheer will
violent and fierce as those who rejected tradition
Legend divulged through personal narrative
is fiery bursts, luminous ashes, remnants of destructive lava floes
Carnage solidifying into veins of valiant courage
a raging vocalization of injustice personified
tempered by the light of love
It is broken into catastrophic wounds
The edges once pristine are jagged
Bitter with unspoken resentment
Abandoned on the side of the road
in unfamiliar territory
hindered by a lack of direction
or a sense of purpose
Trusting the impermeable
a mistake made of elevated tension
The chaos and confusion weep
from saturated sacred ground
sullied by panic and frustration
anxiety writhes in unworthiness