no. fear. the words hang off of lips, gaudy decorations, swaying from side to side. have no fear. as if you are not an animal, as if the contours of desire have always been congruent within the empty chambers of the so called higher.
it as if you have dug your hands into your conscious soul and when nothing but the void rang out you flinched, stiffly, swallowing, battling once soft lungs and curving spines with an offhand dismissal: this is fine.
but there is a darkness within my heart again, there is a darkness within the walls again; i have curled up naked on the path again, and when i raise my eyes to the sun again, i hear it: be fearless.
seven a.m. one pair of porcelain legs amongst sleep warmed sheets, an open window, the songs of birds rejoicing in golden light. i don’t want to be alone.
nine a.m. blueberries and cream, tea leaves, a good book. when the hand on my watch shudders it takes my heart with it. the day is passing. breathe in, breathe out. you can’t lose what you don’t have.
one p.m. i have coiled myself around my heart, but with every passing stranger it slips past me. when i ask for anyone’s afternoon the words pile in my throat, messy syllables and shy eyes. they say yes, life flows, and i apologize later. one day i will build my home.
five p.m. a restaurant i don’t know in a neighbourhood i have never heard of, my phone is dying and i’m not sure what bus to take. a ten dollar bill, a quick smile, and the setting sun. the bus driver answers my questions and i relax. i start to wonder if i’ve always known what roads can bring me back.
ten p.m. one hand against tear stained eyes, a blank sheet of paper, an open window, the rush of cars through a star kissed night. i am reduced to nothing in the face of passion. i am reduced to nothing but dreams of action. i slip between my covers. i don’t want to be alone.
seven a. m. be fearless?
i laugh, get up anyway