Day 116 – Forgive Me For I Know

You shouldn’t read me
as often as you do;
though it’s written for me
it’s colored through you.
Eyes like a filter
to process what’s mine,
drunk on a very old secret.

You shouldn’t be reading
as often as you are;
keep it this fresh,
you’ll never heal that scar-
the story repeated
for a thousand days
but never enough to believe it.

Find someone else
to read at your leisure;
some other artist’s pain
to treasure –
I have too much left
to dig it all out
just because you need it.

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Day 115 – The Baker

It used to be I could
pluck an apple from my garden:
any one
from any tree
would do

And it used to be I could
bake you a pie from that apple:
right quick
no questions
easy doing

But I’m finding lately
I don’t have as many apples
I can’t bake a pie as quick
as I once did

And I often find myself
ignoring the few apples I’ve got
wondering why they ever meant
so much

I know no one is waiting
on my pies anymore;
they’re starting to hurt
just to give

but what is a baker
who’s not baking
what is a voice
who doesn’t speak
what am I anymore

if not this?

Day 114 – Fruitfully

I cannot apologize for my childhood,
for I wasn’t always there.
In all these hundreds of days
I’ve never gone back.

The way we learn to be
is not
the way we’d ever choose

and so

I was
a wrecked flower
from the start.

I cannot apologize for the pathways
stealthily formed
in fragile matter
or the horrors I kept in
by spreading out

I only know for sure
that

the way we try to love
is not
a thing we can control

and so,

fruitfully or not,
I tried.

Day 113 – Another Beast

From the moment my fingers
close around my glasses
I am another beast

They close around steering wheels,
dry-erase markers,
red pens and credit cards,
zippers and shoelaces,
milk cartons,
band-aids,
and
chalk

but when they hold my glasses
like you’d hold a climbing rope
a stress ball, a life preserver;
like you’d hold a newborn,
a lightsaber, a key

I am ready to read
I am ready to see
I am ready to be free