The Sinner, Saint, and Lover


I’ve NEVER looked
at myself as anything special
although I ALWAYS knew
I held a higher purpose
that the universe is larger
than me, placed to serve
the path to normalcy was one
to be a slightly bit
corrupted avenue

How does one reconcile
who they were; and, who they
are meant to be?!

Feathers and roots
how is that possible, secrecy
does nothing good

Silence echos misery
thoughtless, callous, unable
to escape the torment

How far can one scroll back
through text messages
to no longer need to rewind
a brief moment of pause
offers with it the weighted
realization

Not everyone is sculpted
equally; nevertheless, are offered
the tools within themselves

I lived in fear of EVERYTHING
my brain couldn’t settle, resilience
reveals its underbelly with a spiked
guard, an extra layer of
protection

Is it ok in life to acknowledge
our truest of worth?

And hope to not be laughed
at, to understand the sins of the mother do not impact
that of daughter

And that said daughter
is able to surpass her mother’s
miserable existence. Not an
ounce of arrogance outlined,
to those parents on this planet
who are obtuse to the individuals
there children are at present
have already revealed them
as crypt keepers galore

An intrinsic desire
to manifest a metamorphosis
of epic being, this butterfly
whose wings had been savagely
ripped of, held together
with duck tape are ready
to open and fly

Nearly two decades ago, I wrote
about a little butterfly that kept
a constant tap sound
on the glass enclosure

I gently took her wings
an brought her to an open
space to fly freely
there is a reason I have
an affinity for butterflies
that story I’ll save
for another day

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