Mostly hidden is
the realization that closing the door on the house I’ve built
can be an intricate process
especially given my need to
go back and do it again
to ensure that yes,
there really is a monster under that bed.
The knowledge that once you can tear yourself away
from the checking
and the monster
you will be free.
The Liberation cleansing ritual
that I invented just now in a bathroom mirror,
under 2 out of 3 working lights
that involves in part
using my own fresh tears as warpaint
and praying to myself.
The scars I have given myself over the years
are mostly hidden by laughter,
some necessitate long skirts and anecdotes of ninja attacks
but I assure you,
the truth is not dinner convo
only rare and selective coffee talk
and then still with mostly averted eyes.
I mostly hide the fact that
if I wake up for any reason between the hours of 4 and 8 a.m.
there is a good chance I will be struck by the jolting nauseating panic
of being equally frightened of dying and living
and the certainty that both
will kill me.
And that I wish someone would comfort me back to sleep
because it’s exhausting.
Mostly hidden is the moment you know
your path is changing,
and even if you feel the electricity in the air
the moment of the shift still strikes
like out of season lightening,
and you’re filled with white bright knowing
and the smell of your best laid plans
Cosmic aptitude tests find Dawn ideally suited to be a gypsy poet, or your imaginary friend. She’s developed a few more marketable skills, thanks to Mother Necessity. Her current (unmarketable) obsessions include lemons, Sharpies and various shades of green. She is a contributor to ForgetTheBox.net, thrilled to bits when people read (and preferably enjoy) her words. See what falls out in 140 characters or less @McMoxy.
Editor: Thaddeus Haas
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