Do you ever feel guilty beneath the sun?
Like maybe you’ve cried too many tears
for these beams to be so forgiving
yet they light up your cheeks
and make them glisten.
I have felt freedom.
And I have felt captivation
I sure as hell know the difference.
I sure as hell know when life is being too kind,
I have had broken souls ask me for advice
and told them that
It’s pointless for the moon to ask the sun for shade;
for children to ask their mothers where hope is made.
I am a magnetic field.
I repel as hard as I attract,
I am sorry for acting like I know the answers.
For writing poems based on lies I hope will one day be true,
my bones are bruised.
You knew that.
You knew that when you looked at me.
I am something like a theory that no one wants to test.
I am nowhere near better yet.
Nowhere near equipped to focus my attention on anything but sanity.
I planned to hang my vanity until the veins popped
but could not go through with it—
this is nothing new.
Not everything can be beautiful.
I have found that desperation is a classic disease,
only suited for a requiem written for children’s knees
after their last Sunday they ever felt whole.
I am unsatisfied with the life span of my soul.
I told you once that I needed help.
I’ve been waiting ever since.
I am trying not to blame you.
I am not very good at it.
Even on days when the piano plays
without me caressing the keys
I am thinking about the pedal
and how it demands to be used—
how our shoulders are far too abused to carry our toddlers
to bed every night
even when it’s their favourite thing,
we are all unforgiving.
The sun is out and I’m feeling guilty,
her son is out and she’s feeling guilty.
He can’t open his mouth and he’s feeling guilty
for saying goodbye more times than he said
he loved me—
it will weigh on me for eternity.
I am learning that guilt is a guillotine
I do not have to lay my neck on,
and the sun is a generous being.
I am sure it does not feel bad for burning us
or hiding when we miss it most—
The sun and I,
we used to be close.
Maybe ours is a relationship worth mending,
and maybe the stars are never-ending
and maybe there’s a friend in all of us.
The earth has a way of soaking us up
If we’re willing to connect,
plant ourselves to these hungry roots,
and beam out pollen like energy,
maybe I am crazy.
My poems are wavelengths of meanings
with desperate beginnings
and inspiring endings
if you pay attention, you can see
This is how I forgive the sun
instead of apologize.
This is how I forgive myself,
and step outside,
This is how I learn my lesson,
this is how I learn to glisten.
Proud of this one :)