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Uncertainty

 
 
This is not an easy thing –
to stand still
in the middle of a hurricane,
a moment with long claws
that is more like drowning
from the inside, out. My body
is too much water, not enough flame,
a shallow grave for all my fears,
the old creak of a warrior
who wonders:
did you fight enough?
why does peace feel like surrender?
why does surrender feel like death?
 
I am not afraid of your scars.
I am not afraid of your complications.
I am not afraid of the cracks
in this story, the torn pages,
or the way our heartbeats
try to act like bandages
for everything else.
 
This is not an easy thing –
to collapse into silence
like a thousand broken questions.
For this, there are no words.
For this, there is no definition.
It is simply an active miracle,
water changed to wine –
only, someone else is drinking it.
 
I am afraid of everything I couldn’t say.
I am afraid of everything you didn’t say.
I am afraid of losing you, and my heart
keeps taking swings at my head, neither
fighting fair, neither letting up, and I am
stuck in the middle
between a Band-Aid and a bomb –
apologizing for the mess.
 
This is not an easy thing –
surviving. Perhaps I am doing it wrong,
perhaps I should smile more, but
I keep thinking too hard
about our last conversation,
about wanting to fight
like a rabid junkyard dog,
but being asked to walk away
(that does not, I should point out,
mean ‘give up’) –
‘it’s complicated’ doesn’t cover it.
 
I am not afraid of your sharp edges.
I am not afraid of your desperate words.
I am not afraid of the way
I found you, unannounced, in my heart –
living like the way forever feels
when I’m brave enough to say it.
 
But this is not an easy thing,
to live, at best, like a bad habit,
to wonder if you are the reckoning
or the wreckage – and
to face each day as a question:
still, when you asked me,
What do you want?
All I could say was You.
 
There is nothing uncertain
in that. 

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