Fear Wrestling

The merlot on my tongue
won’t allow me to speak.

I stain my pillow with attached prayers of something
better
betwixt the Ghana of my name.

Afraid,
I walk with a cane looped to my belt to beat a fall
design distance from cerebral lessons

Ashamed,
I wear tight shoes to ensure carefully calculated steps
abandon spontaneity
and disavow chances and dances with love.

Neglect sorrow,
crash it down toilets
with eggs to symbolically hinder birth

I sit armored with mindful intentions
of nurturing tomorrows virginal courage.

from the book, “Pocket Honey, Wind & Hips” by nikki skies

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