I was the kid at the video store who

was struck dumb by the faces on horror dvd’s

so I practiced being afraid

 

when I was six I looked out 

from my balcony and watched

metal bars turn into pale-white fingers

I saw long-haired women and sunken dark shadows 

I beckoned each one out from my periphery 

and into the spotlight of my eyes

 

I designed mutants in my sleep

that way each creation could stomp

into my waking hours and rattle the earth 

to syncopate to my quivering because

 

my real boogieman

was the one who told me bedtime stories

in closed doors he’d say “I love you so much 

I’d cut off my arm for you”

but around our family and friends 

he’d tear me down like he did our house

and if I called out in help or defiance

his scream vacuumed my lungs

then back to closed doors again

 

I was a deflated balloon being punctured

closing my eyes did nothing

I just want to live                I knew it then as I do now

 

I will breathe rapid-fire then slow

because once shouts are no longer a shockwave

I will come to see this nightmare as the practice 

needed for my calm and the capacity I call love

will swing open wider                  pouring in

a full spectrum of sensations 

to take residence in my body.