Safety in my Chair

February 22

SAFETY IN MY CHAIR

Sometimes I have to sit with my knees tucked up under my chin. My feet can’t touch the floor at these moments. I hug my legs to me, I feel contained but somehow adrift in my chair. I center my mind on breath and pulse. Pure fear flits and flutters while I gain my composure. When I feel safe enough to put one foot down, then the other, and connect with the world again, I am leaving home to embark on this earthly trek. The journey is there for me every day but some days I curl up in my chair.

Complement your feet with your shoes.

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Patricide

I never killed my father.

Why finish a job that

someone is completing all on his own.

It’s not that I didn’t wish him dead;

I did and do for that matter.

Don’t misunderstand me,

I wish him no harm,

It’s just that he is like a creature so tortured

that he is nothing but a danger and a misery.

Left to live he is a hazard to everyone

he has contact with, an agony to live inside.

What can I wish for him,

but departure and rest,

something he can never give to himself.

I don’t plot, don’t scheme,

I only know; know in part,

the terrible lie he lives

and hurt he drags from place to place

Acting like it is not there and nothing matters;

let’s just get by. So, if he is not dead he should be.

He is the embodiment of the hurtful impotent god

and I don’t kill that man

but I kill the image, perish that thought.