return to me

they were grinning like the rain, each footfall

hits in the crowd with a subtle two-step beat

a bit of a drag on the right, but the white noise hides it.

Everything a perfectly panned shot, narrated

quietly to myself.

In a jacket, which I have been told

is very Wes Anderson. I have just enough yellow to be indie.

Every day is a planned script.

Every day is a short film I will never shoot

for anyone but myself and God


break my heart for what breaks Yours.

there, in the dim light, singing,

carrying hearts in our mouths, bared of all,

no longer looking at each other but

instead inwards,

seeking, searching, for a sacrifice worth offering.

finally turning in, I

jumped inside

plummeting like a stone to the bottom

of my guilt

covered in shame.

There, I

struggled, gasping

to accept this darkness that was me, filling me

so hard to accept that anything is over when I refuse to let go.

(It’s one thing to say you forgive

it’s another to say you forgive yourself)

There, clarity pooled

dragged out of my shadow

as guilt drained away, trickling, weakening

relaxed, let go

a toddling baby reaching for safety,

drowning in self, tossed by waves of pride,


called me.