With Apology Under Tongue, Her Love Unchanged

I ask,

will I ever

be normal

me again?

You say,

yes, grief

has a lesson,

as buying a car,

having a child,

getting married do.

I sigh, pressure hot

rising: Does there have

to be a lesson?

I cut you off,

not bothering listen,

my mouth bringing

ache out.

I just want this to go

away, because I

dont know how

to deal with it.

I choke back

tears you hear.

We turn away.

I stare at the green
night light, begging,

Jesus, please hold me,

please. I can’t hear love,

she’s right.

In the moments

before you speak again,

I let those salty drops

convince me my self-hatred

toward my own sensitivity

will hide me. I know you

say time will heal this loss

I’d rather didn’t exist,

but I’m quicker throwing

disregard, all the while

hoping you’ll wrap your

arms around me long

enough until my heart

senses heaven in what

earth calls mother’s love.


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