i’ve longed for so long,

i yearn to not yearn.

what is love:

does it need

to be earned?

again i ask:

when will it be

my turn?

…

Those old thoughts

came knocking on my door tonight.

Unwelcome houseguests. 

They checked every window,

They checked my back door. 

I don’t know if I locked up well enough.

I don’t think they entered,

but I heard them. 

They shouted, I heard them. 

From outside, banging on the door

I put all my weight against the door

praying they wouldn’t enter. 

They didn’t, they didn’t,

but by God,

I almost let them in.

By God,

they almost 

got in my head. 

A trembling hand, 

reached—

I don’t think faith

is a good feeling.

No, sometimes it’s your only option,

there’s a certain desperation in faith

a certain desperation-like taste.

sometimes faith

has nothing to do with the future.

Sometimes, faith has 

everything 

to do with the past. 

I’ve been here before. 

I made it out before.

They can stay at the door.

My time will come,

of that, I’m sure.

no, faith,

like love,

it is a choice.

sometimes

a hard one.