Wednesday, May 18, 2005

a knight amdist re-mission

i am a recovering anxiety addict;
released with only a few new
found sense in my pocket,
no more desire to use my sword,
and a lost ability to squint.

just a queer girlboy
open
trying to make it in the straight world.

and i dont want to assume
you are going to attack me, darlin',
but sometimes without my trusty
rusty piercing-blade, and in the midst of my withdrawl,
i cant help but employ my sheild, taking
on a defensive stance.
and with mostly a history of
being done wrong behind
to prepare me,
and the current everyday
dense fog of abusive strangers eyes to betry me,
i only see that
you will strike me,
and wound me,
and then disown me.

so i seek out the drama of the fight,
comfortable in my discomfort.
and without my cutting-edge,
i hold up my sheild
and say, through the thick, lost in recovery,
and waiting to bare your cuts:
"Come On. Hit Me. I Deserve It."

i stand naked and addicted to the saftey of defense
looking to be
blindsided by manipulation or condemnation

unable to take in, that,


.instead.


you always resist my guarded advance --
your approach is of your knowing
my newfound form longs to be held,
or that you might want to
take me
crosswise and upsidedown with
kind words and gracious
loving arms.

i dont want to
assume you are going to attack me, darlin'
but sometimes i cant
find my way behind this protection.
i dont want to assume i am corrupt
behind this chainmail, babe,
but i often cant find how to embrace this exposure.

and i want to be
strong without all that metal;

a knight
without condemning chivalry.

i want to
assume you will hold me close,
even though my under-skin and bones
are tender and brittle
from lack of light and loving touch.