No need for shallow chest breath
I am safe
I can breathe through my belly
Deep, becoming regular
Soothing, smoothing, slowing

No need for organised thought
I am shielded
I can relax into this place
Calm, becoming gentle
Softening, swaying, sliding

No need for clock watching
Dali time only
I can exist, chrono-sheltered
Now, becoming ageless  
Melting, muting, morphing
Here…

A door with round window
Mellowing to Renoir-lens
Glossy, smudgy, charm
Hobbit-style architecture
Familiar, shire-y, amiable
Lit warm and soft

A brown carpet bag
Caressing the rich pile
Sturdy, salvaged, true
Tardis-like inner structure
Dependable holder, infinite
For weights and woe

Smooth, even, stone stairs
Descending in timeworn strength
Secure, bendless, cool
Delivering, guiding journey-way
To ease and mend

I tender-lift my bag
Zip open for a prize
On every step

Each stair a healing game
The bag a hungry friend
To hold my heavy goods
And bare them strong for me
As I descend

Step one is for fear
Two for screaming
Three for ache
    with blurred-out meaning
Four for panic
Five dark-dread
    that slither-twists through sleep in bed
If guilt is six
Then shame is seven
    long blame-soaked school without a lesson
Eight for pleading
Nine for weeping
Ten for wounds, and burns, and bleeding

The bag now zipped, trapped weights and woe,
is set down gently, as I go
All grateful heart, and kindess-eyed
Door opens as
I walk outside

it strikes several time a day
—the dread—
carves me out like a soft squash
my torso becomes a vast painful cavity
the will to live stares morosely down,
frayed wires of puppet strings snap about my head
the soul holds me paralyzed over the void
lest I throw myself in
     it is not my time

I don’t remember how the episode passes
I just know that it does
and I am free to move again
mechanical and numb through the day
at least, for a few more hours

~I walk down the street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I fall in.
—Portia Nelson, "Autobiography in Five Short Chapters"

My own four experiences with holes
written October 5th, 2021

1.
I walk down a road
I fall into a hole
This happens a few times
I stop walking down roads.

2.
I get tired of being stuck in one place
I decide to try again.
I walk down a road
A different road than before
I know holes can happen
I keep my eyes on my feet
Just in case.

3.
I walk down roads
I carefully keep a list
of roads with holes
It is always in my mind
Is this a safe road?
Will it be safe today?

4.
I walk down a road with a friend
I forget to check if it's a safe road
We are talking and laughing
Then I realize
This is that very first road
the one with that big hole.

Did we not notice and walk around it?
Did we float over it?
Is the hole gone?
Will it come back?

So many questions.
All I really know is
I am grateful for
the moments of not worrying about holes
while laughing with a friend.

Why do you haunt me ghost
Lingering, lurking, and watching your host
Around every joyful corner you linger
From every happy window you watch
And from ever peripheral shadow you lurk
You do not own me
Yet you dangle a key
As if to show my captivity
In chains I am bound
As memories fly around
Nightmare is a better name
For this haunting game
Day lit terrors before my eyes
Sunny momentarily, til you cover the skies
A dark lit confusion
Met with desperation

All the unspoken screams
Still rattle in my head
Fear fills what were once dreams
Panic now owns my bed
A bed I wish to share
With kindness and love
But you lay there and stare

the scent of eucalyptus
smells like trauma

and rooms with purple walls
are challenging to breathe in

and occasionally, I meet
someone whose voice
flies straight through
my ears and rushes
to my memories.
I can't hear them.
I can only hear my past.

I know that
to anyone who
doesn't know me,
I am confusing.

you can tie me up
and **** me hard.
I like the pain.

but touch my feet,
and I will attack you.

and I won't warn you.
I won't tell you that once,
an ex broke nine of my toes
so I couldn't run away.
you'll never know.

you can smoke
standing next to me.
it wont bother me.
I smoke too.

but move your hand
a little too fast
while you're holding
a lit cigarette or joint,
and I will attack you.

and I won't warn you.
I won't show you
the cigarette burn scars
that he left on my skin.
you'll never know.

you can take me to a
concert where the bass
shakes the floor.
I'd love that.
the noise doesn't
bother me at all.

but there are some tunes
that practicing musicians
sometimes play on the drums.
play those, and
I will attack you.

and I won't warn you.
I won't tell you that
my ****** was in a band.
he was their drummer;
maybe he still is.
you'll never know.

I panicked once
in my sleep, and the man
who I fell in love with
tried to comfort me.
I didn't recognize him.

by the time I did,
he had blood on his shirt
dripping from his nose.
I had blood on my knuckles.

I didn't want to hurt him.
I don't want to hurt
anyone who I love.
I don't want to attack you, or
have to warn you that I might.'

I'm not violent, I swear.
that isn't me.
I would never hurt you.

but for a moment,
when I hear or taste or
smell or see something
that triggers me,
that isn't me.

it's my body, yes,
but it's not me inside.
I have retreated deep
inside of myself,
and all that's left
is a hollow shell
made of my skin.

for a moment, I become
a person trying to survive a
threat that is no longer there.

for a moment, I won't know
that it's you. I won't see you or
feel you or hear you talking to me.

because for a moment,
you smell like trauma.

for a moment, you make it
challenging to breathe.

for a moment,
my brain won't register
that you are you.

all you are to me
in those moments
is another danger.

I don't want to hurt you.
it's the opposite.

I want to escape so that
you can't hurt me.