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.
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.