I can transform hot-headed as an erupting Mount St. Helens
whenever the resounding chime of, “you are replaceable”
gongs loudly within the chambers of my mind,
sweating out all insecurities.
No matter how I scratch at sunken eardrums,
the smoke billows forth and covers murky smog about
until I am gagging on words——-
Choking, groggily reaching for the door,
lost amid declared and undeclared yearning,
I am unable to unlock myself from suffocating thought.
Irrationally, I shall convulse upon ashen flooring,
hot rivers boiling over, cascading down my face in rivulets
as the biting knowledge of weakness overpowers me
and marks me trivial.
Nothing can be done about this wild fragility:
I possess a ravaged female heart used to acid baths
and piercing daggers in the night, beating double time,
frantic for the caress of someone concrete——
A man of plain adjectives and honest psalms
who can throw himself into the midst of my volcanic rage,
calming me with the sacrifice of his body, whispering,
“I am with you, in you and beside you.”
He will respect these shortcomings,
understanding the mechanics behind my fears.
He will realize that it is thanks to past desertion
and clipped unexpected farewells
that I can be this damaged rag-doll, twirling
manically afraid, alone and confused.
Such a lone figure is all I hope for
because I know, no other shall absolve me,
nor quiet the angry hell-fire I can sometimes spew,
for I am a woman scorned—-
I am a woman waiting to be reborn anew.