On Giving Birth

What is this broth that’s cooking in me?

From where is the steam that’s powering my sighs?

No matter how much I distract myself,

I hear the shells cracking at nights.

I try to run away and it follows my beat,

I try to drown it and it surfs all the tides.

What is this pressure building within?

It begs me to kill it, even though it never dies.

Why is this steam ever-boiling in me?

Its gravity turning my words days and nights.

Like a selfish goddess standing out alone,

No amount of praise would for her suffice.

I black the lights out and hide in the dark,

Head to the desert and cut all the ties.

Suspend my judgment of real or unreal,

Only to find it in the mirror in disguise.

I mix all the colors and cherish the mess,

I taste all the flavors and embrace the spice,

When you let all your thoughts flow with no inhibition,

That – I am told – is the elixir of loss.

So, with my guard on snooze, I let myself loose.

I open my hands as I close my eyes.

My heart was conceived by an ancient dragon.

I burn as it breathes and write as it flies.