Poesy #11

Anxiety blisters my words,
full of fear and blood.
Noises fill my head with chatter,
chimes and thunder splitting a skull
of porcelain walls.
My feet are not steam-powered,
not electric, not battery-operated –
not fast enough, nor sturdy.
There is no carriage to carry me.

I will breathe in air and breathe out lightning.
I will drink water and spit out fire.
I will take quiet joy into my furnace
and harden it, brighten it,
mark it with my stinging trepidation.

I praise the gods who have given me my heart,
and rattled it with all the uncertainty I have seen.
I praise all the gods who will carry me home
through the veneer of terror.

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