“Head back eyes closed”

Is what my mother taught me as a child in the bath

So the mix of water and shampoo wouldn’t sting my eyes.

Now much older,

Not even remembering the last bath I was in,

I’m under your waterfall.

There’s no point in pushing back against the sharp, white daggers

Of velocity crazed water droplets.

I drop my head back

And close my eyes,

Hoping that the weight of the water won’t break my back.

I'm scared of myself.
Sometimes.
Thoughts will softly bubble up to the ceiling of my conscience,
brushing past rational thinking
and emotional knowledge,
and burst.
The sound startles me.
How could I've let that happen?
How did the bubble even form?
I'm not one to carelessly release the airtight seal
that keeps out unwanted visitors.
I fear more bubbles, but assure myself it's just a fluke.
This doesn't happen to people like me.
Surely.
Sometimes.
But more scared that I'm the only one.

I am not made of lethargy or inability.
Just a severe case of perfectionist.
I wanted it to be great.
So,
I just did nothing at all.

Be sure to grab an umbrella before you enter.
You may need a raincoat, too.
It's pouring
sideways rain and whipping wind.
The clouds stay bright, though.
The sun still ricocheting off of the sidewalks.
It's blinding
and confusing,
I know.

You will see me running,
screaming,
skin and bones.
I'm okay.
Don't worry, I haven't lost it
Yet.
Just let me dance
as I do.

i let all things pass
i am impervious to conflict
it rolls off my back and into a bucket of
disregarded worries
it's effective
for now
i feel one day this old wooden bucket
shaking under the weight
will give in
my worries will break the great dam
what has been keeping me together
that water will tear through my seams
that water will run down my fingers
that water will flow in my hair
that water will not be in my eyes
for this bucket: the worry bucket
has taught me
that everything can pass
there is no need to yell at the clouds
for raining on your freshly washed car
i've learned
head back, eyes closed
(that's what my mother told me
when she was bathing me as a kid)
so that rain will never reach my eyes

think of me often
my hands, bones, body: shaking
I am not dust yet

the beginning was calm
you were alone
departed some time ago
you shook the puzzle a bit
and the pieces felt out of place
but you didn't complain about
picking them up

you said you were wired differently
that you can't fall out of love
even when the war came
and we sat outside chinatown
you told me you didn't care about
the water of the womb

you wanted to pack up
and go
somewhere
where the pansies danced
and the girls are tough

where this big ol' house
at the end of the road
is your home
you say you knew

your life was planned since day one
but for some reason
you are not there

but still
with me, sitting

outside chinatown