I'm sorry
That every time I try to help
I end up making it worse
Letting tears flow faster

I'm sorry
That every time you were in need
I couldn't be there for you
Letting the pain ache harder

I'm sorry
That every time I white-lied to you
I knew that I was a coward not to tell you the reality
Letting the trust in us break

I'm sorry
That once I came into your life
I made it harder for you
Even though I don't know how
I just made everything worse

I'm going now.
Forgive me

and so today i drew open the curtains of my ribcage and i brushed the dust off my heart and i forgave you.

— an excerpt from a letter to you

you have done wrong
you know it
you hate it
you cannot undo it

how do you cope with it
how can you
look at your face in the mirror
and live with it
  
how can you heal
the pain and hurt you caused
the wrongs you did

guilt is a dangerous friend
strong for some time
full with repetant deeds
   you go widely out of your ways
   to make up for past mistakes

yet over time
this may become a habit insincere
  you do the proper things
  but in your heart
  the hope diminishes
that they will show
   eventually
an exit from the past
   into a brighter future

leaving you
   stranded
in a world threatened by fake remorse
   where penitence becomes routine
   the rituals of asccusation and defense
play themselves out like in a loop
   in endless repetition
    without relief

the pain you caused
the wrongs you did
are thrown up in your face
with unrelenting fury
each time a knife
   twisting in slow motion
   right in your heart

each twist draws blood
and gradually you feel
   your lifeblood flow away
with each renewed attack
   determined will
   suffers another blow

temptation to give up
grows stronger and
   at times
seems like the way
   to ease
   tormented souls
   to break
   the self-destructive circle

if you fight on
   a battered knight
   in shredded armor
it is not out of guilt
but out of love
   that wants to heal the wounds
   you cut in selfish moments
out of responsibility
   for what you did
of which you are ashamed
and cannot love yourself
until she loves you back

   again

          * *

you laughed
and the tulips began to bloom
they didn’t care if it was june
or how the constellations moved
for i, the sun, had found my moon
and in my photographic mind
i’d see the timeless dance
we’d find
if you did stay
i’d find new ways
to tell you how much magic
can live within the space
of your warm hands
upon on my face
how every dream
of mine would drip
out from corners of your lips
how constellations in me grew
the moment my bare skin felt you
+Cosmic love songs synched to tunes
of my lost stars that sparked in you
but when you left i swear they
grew and now you
shine through
all i do

Some days the wind blows
and bends yonder willow
  Its roots hold sway
  perched high upon
  steep sea cliff walls
No gale could affix
a bow to such a limber
heartwood backbone
  Wind arched echoes
  undulate to and fro
  alike a gentle restoration;
  a resilience unrenowned

It looks as if it takes
the skies weight so lightly,
while the rising waves
gather an unhallowed chill
fomenting untamed
at the heart of the prevailing
       westerly swell

A human tends to lean rigidity
right up to the yonder most edge,
a thin line threshold
        a step away  ―
pushed by a moment's gravity;
a blind jump over a cliff
into an unfathomable deep ocean
       far beyond
       a forgiving
       willow's bend


Jesse Stillwater ... 09  May  2018