trust is not a four-letter word

describe:

trust is not a four-letter word.
[at least, that is what i keep reminding myself]

i think you know the place of which i speak.
the small area
[approximately the size of a quarter, i’d imagine]
which rests in the center of your chest:
between the cages of your ribs
beneath the muscles and tissues
of your heart and of your lungs

this is the place we feel trust
[or lack thereof]

at its most intense times
[when betrayal is fresh]
the pain and discomfort
radiate across our entire being

the tension in the neck
the pressure on your stomach
nauseated
[imagine the tire of a texas-sized truck
running over your torso
repeatedly; repeatedly]

arms folded
trying to protect the emotional;
the spiritual;
the mental;
using physical means
survival.

logical redemption?

with grace
and time
forgiveness chosen
the once overwhelming
sensation of suffocation
retreats back into
aforementioned quarter-sized area
and quietly refrains
from causing disturbances

emerging and unsuspecting

hibernation
by definition
conserves energy in
those frigid winter months

but once the warmth of the sun
touches the air
[touches my being]
instead of spring
the fear of feeling
those things that have been
felt before
[crushing me before]
[shredding me before]
emerge

questioning this new light
[or this one? or this one?]
is real; shining; radiating?

perhaps another fluorescent clone
which will project
a washing out of my skin
[grey
lifeless?]

i find myself
staying…

…buried

still afraid
and unable to find it.

[to find trust]

and as a poetic man
expressed similarly
i find truth in his art:

remember the words
of someone
someone I used to know
love everyone
but keep them
far from your soul.