When winter blows in
My mind flies south
Predators got to me early
Forming my pliable brain
I apparently didn’t get herpes or HIV
Though I just as easily could have
All those naked penises were guns loaded with bullets I couldn’t see: viruses, bacteria and potential pregnancy
I am thankful for my good luck
When I rub one out
I get my rocks off from the perspective of my almost-rapists
Not my actually rapists
But the ones who backed away in time
My youth brought both lure and protection
The ideal never meets the real
Hold on to your ideals, your fantasies of how great life could be
We all hunger for more
I pick up what is left of my ravaged flesh and carry on
They left me alive so far, perhaps to feast on me again
I strengthen and heal
Yet still I feel damaged
The burnt tree stands tall despite it all
It wears its charred scar well
The wound is a part of its heart which keeps beating
In tune with the heartbeat of the earth, and the heartbeat of the past, present and future trees
I settle into the rhythm
Sage Burner Poetry 