Where’s Joy?

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.