It is difficult for us to trust
after what has happened to each of us,
what turns feelings to rust
only experience left to teach,
no medicine, no salve, no balm,
in all our memories we reach
for some perfect way to tell the story
of our lives to mean we carry burdens
and we fell, no matter how heroic we
make it seem, from perfect life
to perfect hell, for everyone’s sake
we dream and dream, sometimes
we can’t let go of what is true and
what is fake, through relationships
we learn how many versions of ourselves
rest in our concentrated singularity.
Sometimes love is so intense, it feels
like hate or shame, yet from it
we are born again.
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