Beginner is a dirty word
So I flirt with it
We tease and toss
Wrestle in the folds of my bed until the dawn hours
Drenched in sweat
Sticky like the honey nectar the bees labor for
We hide in secret because I am ashamed
She has seen too much of my tender soul
And of my endless mistakes
My life’s shadow that I run from
But the light of a new day shows me
That she is always there and reminds me
That I don’t know anything at all
That I will never escape her bone chill
So, I turn around
And embrace her
And welcome her toward the light
Because isn’t every day a life someone has not lived
And a soul that has not breathed yet?
And why is there shame in the act of beginning
When it is all we ever do?