"Made of Marble"
Zelophobia, the fear of intense jealousy.
Yesterday, I felt it but did not know the definition.
Xenophobia, the fear of strangers,
which I must admit, I have never felt.
Virtually every fear I have ever experienced
ultimately involves the act of feeling itself;
to feel is to betray this mask I have created,
stone-cold and molded from grey marble,
rare in its simplicity, its dullness. Its effect
quite easily shields my mind and heart from
potential emotions. And in doing so, I
oppose any warm embrace, any kiss or
new, eager lover. I avoid this emotion
many call love as though it is the black plague.
Love, this mask protects me from it, as well as
kisses; the marbled armor rebounds such
jumbles of affection and thoughtful gestures.
I cannot allow myself to feel, in any way, the
harrowing emotions I know come with love:
greed, disappointment, jealousy, hate.
For all I have learned, it is that love will
eventually deteriorate into its very opposite,
down into the inky depths of hatred. Of this I am
certain. So I mold myself into the marbled mask,
beneath a façade of stone and lack of emotion. But,
always – always – I am terrified.
m.l.p.
YOU ARE READING
Meraki
Poetrymeraki [may-rah-kee] (noun): when something is done with soul, creativity, or love; when you leave a piece of yourself in your work. No matter what I write, a part of me ends up among the words. A collection of poems.