Can you be half-pregnant?

I need you.
I need you in my bones.
A deep body need –

I want you,
leaking from my heart
spilling through my veins
and returning.
My blood is begging you,
“Replace me”.

I don’t want to be my own.

Devour my tongue
with notes of cherry, grape, pine,
and shield me in your
oak, barrel, cask.

I desire to bathe in you,
to wash away the past
permeating my skin.

I have a mild case of alcoholism –
my first admission of half truth.

The rest is a lie I tell myself  –
denial,
one
and the same.

So I’ll half deny my blood.

My capillaries scream at me.

My dreams are haunted by questions.

The answers lost in sudden chaos with which I wake
when I half-asleep remember I’m supposed to forget
that face, that laugh, that voice, that hand
that everything I thought was true
was lie.

I’d rather keep lying to myself
than let him do it
again.

So I’ll half deny my blood.

My capillaries scream at me.

My dreams, still haunted.

EJZ 05.05.2015

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How to get to know me and My Survival Mechanisms

I.
Peel off the layers of my skin
and I’ll show you what I hide beneath them.

Put down the emotional baggage
and we’ll see if there’s anything left to discuss.

Find the right combination of storybooks and songbirds
to unlock the contents of my soul.

The problem is I think I swallowed the key.

The problem is I’m still reacting to a kitchen table.

The problem is I forgot where I put the lock.

II.
The problem is there’s really no problem
but the fear of the problem –
the problem is the fear.

The problem is the fear
the problem is me.

You see, I never knew how to breathe above water
so instead I preferred drowning.

So the problem is the survival mechanism became a means to my own end.

And when you can’t swim on land but in a pool of your own blood
you start to think the drowning was better
and life becomes a choice between the lesser of two evils –
a presidential arms race where the tyrant always wins
until overthrown by the original survival skill
overridden not even by the drowning –

the ability to breathe.

III.
Poems can seem unfinished
like breaths can seem too long to take
or too short to spare.

The important thing is they are taken
and released.

EJZ 06.17.2015