Homage To The Pit Of My Stomach

Homage To The Pit Of My Stomach

We struggle with our work-life balance;

argumentative for whose role it is

to digest and process

what expresses itself as hunger,

announced with a drum roll

and buried deep in golden soil,

why do you always have to make this personal?

Maybe others are sympathetic to your plea

but you stand on shrinking nerves

I didn’t know existed

in those parts of my body,

how dare you show up so naturally.

The site of all egocentricity;

I used to fear your twisted interior

except now I see that sometimes

the things we first think look most pretty

are all but empty of substance.

Loving you takes courage;

a round of ‘love you, love you not’,

plucking chance petals in the absence of knowing

that every flower which grows here is edible.

Left hungry for dessert and a loving touch

but asking for more was always asking for too much

so this mouth chewed on stinging nettles and swallowed air for lunch.

Does it come as a surprise that sometimes I just don’t believe in you?

I go along with it,

because other people, like my therapist,

want me to explore this pyrophobia,

my fear of playing with the fire in my belly –

the ‘shining gem’, manipura, the yellow element,

source of healing power.

Self-worth perfected in the heat of the kiln

which I’ll use to burn this house down.

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