Skills. Not then.
Shame. A sin.
God still peering over my shoulder
Memory abounds. I do not go closer.
Body tenses. Don’t you feel it?
I challenge myself to move in;
I know I need it.
Oh…the confusion, the pain, the anxious heart
I did not see screams out in my face, draws it back—
“What a disgrace!” an old man told me.
I listen to music that taps the memory
Opens up enough to let me be with the tension
In my throat, drawn back hither. I smile at a stranger
And get only a waver. Oh, the stories my throat
Would tell me; Oh, the shame under my shell,
Would you believe humans are not inherently flawed?
That god lived in the soil as well as television rods?
My heart remembers, anxiety will beat through
Another emotion riding the tide, blue skies glide by
On borrowed timed, set the pace, flow the rhymes.
The body is a reaction course. Pay attention.
Cause and effect. The brain. Associations.
The shame-talking man sometimes lives in my eyes,
Anxiety flows to the other side
It’s not meant to hide — it’s a message from the creator
And when trauma arises, remember to be with her.
The woman you are, stand near her. Even alone,
you are neither your thoughts nor your feelings
Both older than words. You are healing.
You remind her,
“You are of wise, Earth kin.
It is safe, this body I am in.”
May 16, 2020
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