My skin cracked and
bleeding, raw tissue like a broken day
When will you really marry
me? Not when you say the words
You already have. You say
them everyday
Maybe the issue is really,
when will I really marry you?
Not the fantasy in my
head, not the companion of my days, but you
The real, anxious,
neurotic, over-protective, worried, precious you
When will I stop acting
like my progenitors’ dialysis machine and wake up
Really wake up to the
blessings before me? To my potential, to our potential
Like the cuckoo bird, I
act nonchalant when I leave those behind to manage
Like it doesn’t matter
what gets thrown out and dies
Maybe I’m the unknowing
mother left behind, raising another’s egg as my own
I know I need to forgive
you to move on, to let things soften
For new skin, supple and
strong to spread over these burns
Where will I find that
courage?
E
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