I can’t disguise my fear as something softer.
It’s not about my teeth and it was never about your throat. it was about the uncontrollable shake masquerading as anger
And wouldn’t that be nice? If I was angry at least I wasn’t weak. If someone gets hurt,
it was bound to happen, a fate of a ******, messy end.
the flood rinsed me out,
Inescapable fear, i saw its eyes in that wave
Now I’m making a mud house in its wake, building it up little by little.
It isn’t about my nails, clay stuck beneath them (I can no longer tear) but my hands.
Pulling chunks of earth to build up my walls, weaker than before—
It’s gentler than I remember. And it’s warm. It’s the steady knowledge of you
The sound of footsteps or a spin or the smile in your eyes.
This is where I quit. White flag raised, walls short enough I can throw my leg over and hop down the other side.
Acceptance.
Hold me, please. It doesn’t seem like a lot but it’s my
walking pneumonia finally clearing.