I've tried to become
That which I can't fathom.
And I repeatedly fail to achieve
What I already am, and always was...
Things have come to that.
So now, each time I take a chance, I fail.
So each fall gets softer and more tolerable.
So when I step away from home,
My crying tree welcomes me.
Nobody dances anymore.
And then my
Father slipped into my room I heard him
Whimpering to himself, and when I opened
My eyes, there was no one there
Apparently, he couldn't hear my prayers...
Or even see God peeking into
My old, clasped hands.