when falling into fear is easier than falling asleep.

September 21, 2018

my cat doesn’t like car rides.
an otherwise fierce feline
becomes a furry bundle
of fear, rapid-fire breathing
and foaming at the mouth,

every second is suffocation,
every bump in the road
is permission
for each hard breath
to be a puke premonition
on my feet,
my lap,
the back seat.

but she paws her way
through the experience
if only to see the other side:
the calm of a comfort zone
for a creature of habit.
couch napping, relaxing
quietly, at home.

i am also a habit creature.
calm, in certain places.
crazy, in others.

my claws rarely clutch
unscratched surfaces,
my ears cling
to the silence between
unfamiliar sounds,

sometimes my days
are spent
doing
the same things
over and over
and over
and over again,
that the cycle doesn’t seem like a circle.
and I’ve convinced myself
that the shit in my litter box
doesn’t smell so bad.

I’ve grown into a lion,
but I act like a kitten.

Free me from
the fact that sometimes
I can’t see my power.

Free me from the need
to be perfect –
to only reveal
the wings that don’t
shed feathers
when I fly through storms.

Free me from the phobia
of showing you my fear.

(this poem is a work in progress … )