Tuesday, April 21

Poem Nine

I never delete my journal entries
No matter how embarrassing the after taste of tomorrow’s clarity may be.
They’re the unwanted children
That I never have the courage enough to love,
Even though I nursed them to life with the tip of my pen.
You are a shame.

Perhaps I was dramatic, and emotionally needy, and maybe a little bitch crazy
But I just let the words sit there and stew, changed feelings fostering old memories;
My fingers poised next to the delete key,
I have my mother’s detached affection,
Repulsed but loving all the same,
The heat of anger pours from my lips, how stupid you are

But these words are mine.
You are mine.
I forgive you. I forgive you. I forgive you.
This was a me once,
And I take you in my heart and hand for whatever you offer me.
I love you. I love you. I love you.

I never delete my journal entries,
Even though I don’t mean half the shit I’ve written in the past
Because this present is my home.
This present is where you and I sit on white benches on rainy days
And have long talks of nonsensical things
Things that jump into puddles with their yellow rain boots
And offer us mud pies teeming with worms.

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