Becoming

Writ­ten in 2000

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.