The way I am wishing
to become a winter song.
When words fall out my
lovingkindness drawn mouth,
they will be quiet welcome.
Snow collects on dirtied soil
without asking: May I rest here
awhile? We must be okay with the
chill, because we carry left over cold
as a souvenir for our hearts. We
point out past wrongs, you left
school, you won’t go back.
You’ll never hold this down,
pay this back. You’ll never be like
me. You’re a jerk. Idiot. Asshole.
Sucker. Now replace that with an F.
This is what I hear. I can’t lie, saying
complaint doesn’t rear it’s ugly
blackhead, pimple I am sure will
need popped by week’s end. I can
never see them, but they are as
painful as these words slain on a
cross. More bloody than the slightest
whimper I make about hurt I can’t
control. Joy is hard to swallow,
especially when I’m handed this gift
daily. I fight to believe the way other
people talk, never has to be
normalcy. People I don’t know well.
dare to call me sweet, beautiful,
friend, as I swim up a current, so
don’t fall into conformity. If I am
honest, I have overthought more on
God’s love for me, believing every
day, His love is the same as my
family. The quick snake tongues
never pride empty. Strike. Strike.
Strike. It’s not a turkey, I’ve only
bowled once perfectly.
It’s me, trying not swing back at their
falsehoods to produce a grand slam
belief: this is the way life has to be.