II. Mysophobia

Sure,
now,
when I look to the right
of my bedroom door,
I see the light-switch for what it is--
a light-switch,
inanimate,
with absolutely no potential
to cause me harm.

But, at eleven years old,
a light-switch
is a breeding ground
for plethoras of
girl-hungry microorganisms
waiting to infect me
with some vile, incurable illness.

In the sixth grade,
I wash my hands the
same way I would
eventually come to write poetry--
obsessively,
with reckless abandon
and, most importantly,
with the insatiable desire to escape.

I flick on the light-switch and
I wash my hands

I touch the door handle and
I wash my hands

I just come out of the shower and
I wash my hands

I learn what a ******* is at school one day and
I wash my hands

I think of *** for the first time
(I enjoy it)
and
I wash my hands
(I regret it)

I believe God must be angry with me so
I wash my hands

I wash my hands.
with tedious precaution
so as not to miss
a single palm line
or fingernail.

I wash my hands
until my skin
splits like volcanic rock,
until dew drops of lava
clot across my knuckles,
until I've sacrificed every last
bit of my flesh
in my attempt at purification.

I wash my hands
until it hurts to
eat.
write.
pray.

(But in four years,
I will have stopped
praying altogether,
anyway.)

i. arachnophobia; fear of spiders. more common in females than males, why at night you choke on the idea of her fingers on him, long and thin.

ii. ophidiophobia; fear of snakes, fear of being crushed alive by commitment, why in the mornings you never left your number, why you don’t call her back, why you regretted it later.

iii. acrophobia; fear of heights. why she stays out of circuses and away from people like you who would make her fall in love.

iv. agoraphobia; fear of situations where escape is difficult, fear of the plane that takes her away, fear of the open crowded space of your ribcage where paintings of her still constantly hang.

v. cynophobia; fear of dogs, fear of the graves where good noses could dig up the mistakes you have made, fear of a girl who made you want to get a puppy and settle down somewhere finally.

vi. astraphobia; fear of thunder and lightning, fear of being alone in a house that always sounded like both, the stormclouds of your histories always brewing behind flimsy doors. fear of finding her there and having her kiss you in the rain. fear she’d never come back to you again.

vii. trypanophobia; fear of injections, fear of drugs, fear of the doctor who looked into your heart and told you that your shaky hands and bad dreams were a sign that she’s crept into your sleep.

viii. social phobias; fear of social situations, fear of your father’s white knuckles on the wheel while he says, “no son of mine is a ***** like this,” fear of her mother’s judgement, fear of not being enough.

ix. pteromerhanophobia; fear of flying, fear of remembering how long it’s been since you actually felt alive, why you trembled whenever you held her tight, why one day she frightened you so bad that you left in the middle of the lonely night.

x. mysophobia; fear of germs. why you knew you’d only get her covered in dirt. why looking at yourself in the mirror always seems to hurt. why you will never be happy without being hers. out of this whole messed up world, she was the only thing pure.

reality is
that plants and man
go hand in hand
that plants mans
right hand man
that mans hand
is strengthened through
plants.
plants blood
feeds man.
mans bones
feed plants.
no plants no man.
the relationship is
symbiotic.

reality is
freedom is a birthright
of all born.
freedom to do as
one yearns, pulled toward.
concrete somehow tricks
our feet into believing we are free.
though we do not hear
the message of the beat
the tune of the heat
emanating from the earth.
we miss steps, tricked by concrete.
our egos need a check.

reality is
all are symbiotic relationships.
no you no me.
I only see me because
I can see me next to you.
same with plants.
life is not linear
or clean, the dirt you sweep up
is meant for you to breath.
vibrissae deal in exclusive ways,
only allowing nutrients
and B12 in.
mysophobia is a dis-ease of the mind.

reality is
we are cut off from our home.
from our air
from our dirt
and our plants.
they too miss us.
the wisdom of life is long
the proof to **** linearity.
the trees call us to honor our bond
to sound the alarm
calmly, in the dream state
so all touch the vibration.

they call to us always.
their dreams need our ears
our hands release the inspiration
of us, together, symbiotically
creating.