Taut

I am wound so tight
an overstretched guitar string
just waiting,
waiting,
for a finger to trail lightly over me
and then
I will snap.
I will break
I will release all of the things I have been holding in for so long,
the things sitting on the back of my tongue,
never sure who these words belong to
because they sure don't belong to me.
These tears want to come, gushing out
hot trails down to chapped lips
the feel of electricity in the air,
thunderstorm in my bones
fingers wrapped tightly around a tree root
like an an anchor,
the handclasp of a brave man
a dryad as my chair
and friend
and only lover.

I am tired
and the storm raging around me,
inside me,
all over me
is getting to be too much.
No more, I want to say,
but these aren't my words.
My mouth is mute
on every important matter I've eve heard of.
How can I release my words into the uncaring world?
They are my babies,
and they carry my genes
they uncode me,
lay me bare under the obstetric stares of the whole world.
I am coming undone,
falling apart at the seems and could-have-beens
pieces of decaying leaf mold I've been holding on to for far too long
littering my invisible path into the woods
the gingerbread house locked up tight
against burglars,
for the witch has learned to be cautious
about who she snares these days.

I asked you once
to tell me how to be wise.
You taught me how to instead.
I asked you to show me how to trust you.
You pushed me onto a high-flying trapeze bar.
I asked you for an earthquake,
a blacksmith's fire,
an anvil and chisel to hammer myself taut and thin and tired,
an overstretched guitar string
so I may learn reliance.
You have never let me down.