Trust is a tricky creature.
It slithers its way
into our hearts, our souls.
It coils itself into the darkest chamber
inside us and calls it home.
It stretches and makes itself
comfortable until it
winds itself around our lungs,
constricting all breath,
all reason,
all sense.
And then it pierces
our most vital *****,
silencing its drumming and
injecting a poison that
swims through our veins,
paralyzing us
from the heart down.

-bes-

I’m not Careless
(But I’m not Careful).
I’m not Reckless
(But I’m not Mindful).

Why can’t Helpless and Careless conceive,
and why can only Reckless and Blameful breed?
Why is it that I swaddle Responsibility, the daughter of Action?
Why is it that I nurse Responsibility, the sister of Reaction?
For how many nights must I be disturbed by Responsibility’s cries?
She is your child, not mine
(But at the market, they all mistake me for the mother).
And somewhere you sleep soundly -
While here I weep silently,
failing to calm the screams of a weary infant hovering over my heart.

Would you say I’m less than because
I refuse to be Shameful?
Would you say you’re Regretful
or just Remorseless?
Will you father Responsibility,
or will I tuck her in every night?

I can’t answer for you
(But I’m not Voiceless):
None of this makes me less than a woman,
I can say what I’m not
(But I know what I am):
Powerful.

-bes-

Poetry is nothing
but a play on words
that when properly tuned,
will play its melody on your heartstrings.

-bes-

“Were you *****?”

R-A-P-E-D.
The five little letters
in the question
I fixated on.

I gawked at the therapist,
thinking,
This session will
H-A-U-N-T me forever.

Why couldn’t those
five little letters be
L-O-V-E-D
instead?

Confused,
all I could manage to respond was,

“M-A-Y-B-E.”


-bes-

Love like an Amtrak train –
The heat made me queasy.
It clung to me and hung on to me
When I stepped off,
A vague blurry feeling
Tethered to me, or I to it.
No refuge in the streets of this new city
Or even in the comfort of my own home.
No escape from this magnet that lives in me,
On-again, off-again, but I carry it with me, tucked inside.
Eventually the dull fire was too much to imagine,
And I wondered what was next,
Frightened and longing for an impulsive new love.

-bes-