Too Real

Fear of swallowing my dream, making it reality
That my heart was cut in two at age three
Fear of double pulse, half breaths, staggering voice
Out of my body, at night
Fear of the belt she wore on her hand
When I’d said too much, hadn’t done enough
Didn’t understand why fighting with my sister
in the backseat while it rained was punishable
Why staring into the sun would ruin my eyes
Or why I had to take my attention from my book
To enjoy the scenery on a twenty four hour drive
Going sixty five seventy miles an hour after hour
Fear of hitting birds with my car, window rolled down
To smoke, and having to extricate the body
Stiff necked, white eyed, and nameless from the backseat.
Fear of letting friendships consolidate with time
Until the only one left is me—a piece of everyone
Molded into the unrecognizable beast that stalks the lonely.
Fear of my name repulsing him when it shows up on his cell phone
Because the messages left seven days before were too real of an image.
The taste of another’s semen spit into his mouth
The adulterous innocent, proclaiming need and isolation.
Fear of loving God so much that I paste a Bible on my chest
And wear it to school and work at the bar…
Fear of giving in to my self-motivated destruction,
Of swallowing too many blue pills
And still not feeling sedated or away from myself.
Fear of surviving my next accident,
Walking away unscathed to fight road rage again tomorrow.
Fear of tasting the first sip, knowing I have no limit,
And will drunk dial with ease.
Calling up anxiety and laughter and sound and fever.
Waking the dormant fear of my own second-guessing.
Fear of watered eyes turning pale
Leaving me incomplete, unanswered.
Fear of attending my cousin’s funeral without a body.
Fear of myself, fear of my thought,
Fear of my inconsistent sanity.
Fear that I will die without ever really knowing myself,
Only the person I projected on others, the muse, the saint,
The drunk, the panic-stricken, the elite, the composed,
The reserved, the uninhibited, the slut, the broken,
The angst-ridden, the over-loved, the unloved,
The one who feels alone when surrounded by bodies.
Fear of this, and fear of nothing because death comes
Whether beckoned or avoided.