The hands of a coward hand me a phosphorous grenade
I’ve learned that if I
can trust you with my
body, then I can trust
you with my panic.
However trust has never triumphed
over fear: theirs or mine.
Instead it has led to
this starving pit in hell.
I have tried to trust
before, but we didn’t speak
the same language, and my
ships never saw the lighthouse.
But I’m in new waters
now, catching new waves and
winds. Yet the deep has
seldom seduced me like tonight.
Underneath the avoidance lies panic.
That I am not who you
thought I was, that you
are merely an idea too.
If some brave heart dared
to hold me– really hold
me– I think something in
me would break beyond repair.
If I am held with gentle hands,
and let go,
you would see how broken
and disturbed I crawled out
of the prison of the chrysalis.
With the panic of judgment
and the pain of vulnerability,
gentle hands would cause an
eruption, a lion to roar.
I’d scream until my larynx
tears, until my ears bleed
and my skin splits, revealing
roots down to my womb.
I’m afraid because I’d need
somebody. If I truly surrender,
my hands would shake too
much to untie the ropes myself.
I’m so afraid because
I’ve never trusted anybody
like that. I’m so afraid,
that it becomes safer to avoid.
So this fear turns into
lust, the abandonment turns into
betrayal, your love into jealousy:
I’m just a hungry whore.
But when new eyes see right
through me, when someone warns
my ships with a lighthouse,
it still feels like drowning.
I’m fully clothed when the
panic sets in. I don’t know
the right words, have never
even spoken them out loud.
You don’t understand my scream.
At least not in a way
I’d comprehend. Because you
offer me a hug instead
of holding me down as
you force yourself through my
body. Deep enough, so that
the only ache is you.
You don’t curl your claws
around my throat, but gently
pat my back and apologize that
you haven’t showered today.
I don’t even want to
have sex with you. But
I don’t know how else
to be vulnerable anymore.
A black hole grows between
my thighs, and it eats
all my thoughts, leaving my
body to talk instead.
And I want to tell you
that I’m hurt. So I punch
and bite and claw and
kick and take and take and
I’m so afraid. You were
never brave enough to
hold me past my breaking
point, through the panic.
I’m afraid no one is.
So I trust my own hands
tonight, to tie the ropes
tighter around my thighs, tearing
through time and tiredness together.
Tighter until the blood stops,
until I stop thrashing and
finally, finally surrender to what
I can’t control: my body and my tears.
