#-phobic

Don't teach me about fear, darling. Don't spin me tales about it. I know it better than the curves of my fingers, better than the lilt of my voice, better than the tilt of my stance. Don't teach me about fear, darling, because I've bid farewell to too many moons since we started this dance. Don't teach me about fear, darling. Because it's been lurking over my shoulder since I was thirteen and telling my friends that I wanted to be married by twenty-five. Now, it grips my hips and shakes my arms, snaking between my ribs pulling smiles and laughter apart, wrapping around my threadbare heart, killing its beating; it's beating, beating I'm beaten. Don't teach me about fear, darling. Because I once saw it as the shadows of the moon, clouds in the night, a dark mass of no-shaped objects, blocking the light. Now, it looms over me across the dinner table, the silhouette of my mom against fluorescent, her face, her body, her voice but a foreign noise, a distant poise, And I nod, keep nodding, downtrodden. Don't teach me about fear, darling. Because it was once heights, dog bites, crashing flights; all happenings of without. Now, it is a shallow cut from collar to coccyx, bones seeking warmth not offered by the sun, all things within-- and I am left sitting here, not angry, not lonely, but aching. Creaking like wood board underneath your feet every time I move, though I try my best to not make a sound, but that doesn't matter, I am bound to love you, left hurting whenever you're not around. Spellbound. Don't teach me about fear, darling. Because I know its names, both first and last, the ones it carries now, and the ones it went by in the past, Love, guilt, courage, surrender. All these words became sparks, then burning ember, wildfire of the body, kindling for the soul-- Fear, darling, is not a fleeting touch; it is what makes us whole.