On a walk home,
the rain hits
my skin,
cooling my boiling
nerves as you flex
your hold on my heart.
I was weak, too weak
to leave,
but I’m heading home.
I’m taking up my cross,
bearing the cost
of what I lost.
I carry the shame
of forgiveness,
but that’s the payment
I received from above.
To leave or not to,
leaving who I’ll be,
leads me to what’s real,
to what matters.
I’m visiting someone,
someone I haven’t seen in a while.
I’m staring at the person in the mirror.
Unlike yesterday, when I lost my voice,
I like what I see.
It’s only fair you know
that I’ve forgiven you.
It’s only poetic that you’re standing
on the porch in the rain,
screaming that I’m forgiven.

Twitter – @AC0040

(© 2023 AC)

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