odd bruises scatter
my body; i don’t remember
where they
are all from.
perhaps i never even noticed.
but the bruises
are there
and they will
heal in time
and
they are mine yet
i am not them.
the stars have flittered
in my room
for a year now
but i haven’t spoken to them enough.
the universe forgives me.
i have
walked her halls
with pulsing scar
tissue and
she asks me
to leave it behind.
what you fear most has happened already //
the universe forgives you always -
she forgave me before i
said sorry.
she forgave me
even with the perfume
lodged between
the strands of my
hair
and the dried
tear marks on my cheeks.
mea culpa, i cry
mea culpa maxima.
i apologise and apologise
and beg for forgiveness
please i can
be good enough
and the dual translation
( my fault / my fault )
seems to make it sting only more.
please i can be good
i would say it one million
more times
and promise
anything for the attention
anything anything anything.
begging and pleading for
forgiveness
but blame and guilt never meant a thing
and
natasha my love
you have only
deviated from what you are.
you used to dream about
and it was a simpler time
but there
is nothing wrong with you
and there is no lack of love.
nothing that you
are can be lacked
there is no lack of love
no lack of love.
delayed gratification
is okay
no gratification is okay
let your heart break
because it’ll piece together again
i promise.
the bruises
you can’t trace back
are reminders
of guilt;
pockets of i’m sorry
sat poetically just under your skin
because it’s always
just under your skin.
it crawls around
and picks through your veins
and arteries
amid a clamour of the
voices
poetry is giving. poetry is love.
poetry is goodness.
forgiveness is not given
sparingly;
you are not given something you need not.
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