Tuesday, January 25, 2011

It Happened Twice This Summer

My biggest fears don't really have a whole lot
to do with me. They're pretty common, and not
very specific, though they manifest in
specific forms. You've probably guessed by now
what I'm getting at, with my recent titles (although these
poems, which seemed to me so vital to record,
to get these events down on a page, are really
important only to me, and my restlessness, and rage).
But while I am scared of guns, and Roth of the dark,
neither of those are what mark my days with
the feeling of being somehow less. Every day,
nearly every minute, I obsess over very small things.
Things you don't even think about. This poem
has nothing to do with the guns, or the blacking out,
or the paranoia to which I referred, or
the vanity I take in my own written word.
This poem is about what I fear most for me.
Not my friends, real or, like Roth, sadly imaginary.
I wrote this because I'm constantly afraid, having
my most sensitive history so transparently displayed.
My biggest fear in regards to myself
is they will look at my face, and be able to tell.

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