Collected my pin.
Sloshing through the mud,
Remembering accusations.
"You fucking slut..." brain begins.
Touched, must've been my doing.
Protective response,
"It's not your fault.
You don't need help stretching."
Alcohol truth serum,
Loosened tongue disclosing all.
Fearful staring down the barrel,
Almost made the impossible call.
Next morning, shit that was a lot to take in.
"Are you okay? Any questions?"
Just curious, past is passed.
What's the point of grudges that last?
Not ignoring vices, acknowledging they exist.
Otherwise red flags catch up,
Staining green ones in the bloodshed.
The rap sheet I keep is always against me.
Won't let you see it, façade of pride pristine.
But I hold myself to impossible standard,
My own worst fiend.
I suspect similar boats,
Hearing you talk about times of sink or float.
Severe in language, recounting sins.
Stumbles requiring exoneration.
Discomfort with mistakes past,
Grateful for the person resulting.
Beautifully flawed perfection drafts,
Without justification somersaulting.
Love is not tracking repetition.
Learns from mistakes, refuses toxic patterns.
Invested in growth, devoid of condemnation.
YOU ARE READING
I CORINTHIANS 13 Series
PoetryModernized reflection of oft quoted characteristics of love from Paul's first letter to the church in Corinth. What do each of these really mean?
