I can love you.
I'm allowed.
I can pretend that I think that
I'm Jesus
Because sometimes
I do, a little, no,
Sometimes
I am.
I can learn to hear voices, and
You can hear mine, and
We can both be confused
About what's imaginary and
When it's not:
Running,
Selling it off,
Selling out,
Someone who's turning,
Never really free
From mistakes,
Past or
Today's,
Ours or
Someone else's, or
Those that belong to no one,
The ones that just exist, just
Are.
I do.
I love your specific,
Your individual perfection,
Your taut, veiny, groaning,
Hungry, resentful body,
The thing that you give me
That's so very close
To honesty
Because
I'm allowed.
For a day
At the very,
Very least,
I can.
by Coke Brown Jr. -
as posted on Coke's Croaks -
www.cokescroaks.com
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