Day 18: under my skin

the seed sprouted

like I said it would,

its roots assertive,

surprising,

quick.

it gnaws

and nourishes.

it tickles

or itches

or stings

or aches

depending on the day

and the weather,

the nearness of breath,

how crowded the bar,

how crisp the lines of memory,

how deep my bow to fear.

is it beautiful or horrifying?

white threads veining

just under my skin,

alternate capillaries

grown to carry

courage from

a time-distant reservoir.

it's still learning how to live here,

just under the surface;

how to squeeze less tightly,

not to smother –

how to co-exist.

I feed it strange things:

an unflinching gaze,

a daring inquiry,

a passionate rise,

a demand for notice,

a stark and loud sincerity.

I feed it risk.

that’s what it wants from me.