Christopher Michael, gay, gay poetry

Who Will I Be

Fear

goaded out of proportion, chased, hemmed in
condemned by multitudinous gaggle of fears,
squabbling chickens penned up too long
shut in without windows or doors to open
ruled by her majesty fear, frightened always
alone by my own shadow, compromised beyond
distraction, fear of venturing out into the abyss alone
stopped by my own petard, closed like a gash, no entry
no survival skills to brave it out
alone in the jungle where bad men hurt men like me
I can’t talk of that, not now
fear is overrated, a drink of poison in a silver chalice
warring guardians between heaven and  hell
I’ve angels and devils in my skull cap fighting
incessantly trying to push me in
pull me out, wherever I go fear
my endless companion, naysayer, doomsday friend

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