This is a poem of guilt.
This is the death of pride.
This is where the wind stops whistling
and the only thing I have is silence.
This is no escape. This is where the soul is buck naked.
This is where I am wrong. This is where I am better than my blood.
This is my hunger. This is my choice.
My road to a better place. My head, praise this depth.
My privilege, no more. Eaten and digested. A clean slate.
This is my body in different positions. My heat, my desire,
stepping backwards and making better choices.
Exploring intimacy. Harnessing control. Imprisoning stress.
Open these cages of self-doubt and tremble forward towards the sky.
This is my life. Live in the clouds for at least one known moment.
These are my legs crossed. My steeple lifted.
These are the songs of something new. The families of
obvious principle crying out for help.
Stand tall for these are our hearts and oh what they can achieve.
You and your ghosts may eat my body some nights.
But dear God, leave my heart.
And I promise I will let you live another day.