the disappointing truth
is that i've never really been graceful
under pressure
under fast-paced circumstances
under crushing heartbreak

that behind the sometimes
unwavering exterior,
almost all the time there is
a battlefield inside of me,
an aftermath of a calamity,
a weeping child

amidst the stillness of the trees,
my tears threaten to spill like
tidal waves over the brim
of my eyelids,
my heart contracts to the point of pain,
my memories run off to the center stage
of my consciousness

that in the instances i appear contained,
unperturbed, in the face of disquiet
they have been preceded by unannounced
visits to comfort rooms
to attempt to make peace or to wrestle
with my vengeful lover --
my backstabbing friend --
my anxiety