Paraphrasing Eleanor Roosevelt

There is something beautiful,
something breaking open
at the thought of
my ability to believe
in you
with no questions asked.

There was something so soft
in the way I knew you’d achieve
all your dreams, one day;
even if I wasn’t there to see them.

I pass by tshirts
and posters and trinkets
and everything reminds me
of moments never shared,

and it all is still so
beautiful,
that I am still so soft,
even with my stitching;

your dreams are still attainable,
still reachable,
please believe me.

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A boy
I have not spoken to
in three years
apologizes;
pulls me aside to tell me
I deserve better.

My sister calls this
an act of God,
that sometimes someone has to speak
the truth because I know it,
but don’t believe it myself.
But this time,
I agree with her.

Think it’s funny
how someone who used to beg me
for things below the belt,
doesn’t know how he’s interceding
for the Holiest of holies.

Want to tell him,
I see it, too,
how God’s purposely
protecting me.

Want to apologize
for clearing out my backseat.

Want to cry out
the cliched “hallelujah”;
shed tears on the drive home,
and thank Him for his mercy.

Praise Him
that it’s been over a month
and these lips have been
consistently denied the opportunity
to learn the contours of
another no-good-for-me
some body.