Becoming

Bub­bling up to the surface
a raw and bloody thing
strug­gling for birth and I 
I have tried to ignore her
tried to pre­serve my moorings
ten­ta­tive­ly bal­anc­ing on idealisms
that slow­ly dis­solve their façade
and I have been bur­dened by fear
and a hunger for seren­i­ty but she
has pricked at me soft­ly steadily 
grow­ing more insis­tent and I teeter
back and forth from the soft warmth
a taint­ed numb bliss to the bright cold
shriek that promis­es a bold­er freedom
but I don’t know if I’m ready for the
plunge the blind fall into embracelessness
and I don’t know how accu­rate it is this
dis­con­tent­ment how taint­ed it is by succulent
fan­tasies and I know that the choice is irreversible
that where I tread from there unsteady and heart pounding
he can­not follow
and the choice is self­ish cold lust­ful guilt-ridden
brave burst­ing and wise
she is a dark mir­ror of what I must be
and I knew her my god I knew her long before her seduction
and I feel com­pelled to acquiesce
feel her rising
earth­quak­ing and in spite of myself
I am becoming.

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