It’s such a common thing
among
the sisters of Zion.
So many walls up.
So much fear.
And worry.
And don’ts.
And can’ts.
And shouldn’ts.
As though they think
anyone will think
less of them
for the less
that others do
to them.
As though we
who have been
or could be
there
would ever
deride them
for seeking,
quietly,
for the help
others force them into.
They feel bad
and hide
and suffer
inside,
instead
of letting charity
never fail.
We ought to be strong/
hosts of our happiness, not
servants to our fears.*
Taken from a poem read by a young woman at Speak For Yourself open mic night, Enliten Cafe’, Provo, Utah
What if she is not/
ambivalent? What if she/
is just scared? Like me?
I finally learned/
why I’ve stayed so distant. Fear./
She’s the Goddess, dreamed.
AND
When teenage boy dreams
and fantasies
turn into adult man
realities,
they still can be
scary.
I fear no one will/
be glad to see me as I/
go into Heaven.
She wondered if I/
didn’t go dancing from fear./
More likely, I’m bored.
I saw the buffet/
sign and knew why she didn’t/
call me back. She is.
The closer I get/
To being good, the worse and/
the more pain I feel./
I see a vision/
I want to tell her, but I/
fear how she’ll judge me.
Staring at a read/
screen, with no answers in sight,/
doesn’t calm my fears.