I was never the sort
To discard photos of old boyfriends;
…..even after I married.
I wouldn’t ask my husband to delete
Chapters 3-7 of his favorite book?
I was never the sort,
to think, perhaps I knew what I was doing?
From the day I gushed forth onto this earth.
Even in my twenties, when recklessly surveying
My own resilience in life;
Puking in an alley way after showing the bartender my titties;
Humility was not in check inwardly or outwardly
This I knew, I was a late bloomer
Life itself spoke to me daily in both whispers and shouts,
In neon buzzing letters that dripped from the sky;
Fading into all that I would become.
I was never the sort to ask for help
But would prefer to swallow that whole bottle;
And have you ask
“Can I help you?”
Now I am the sort where forgiveness is as abundant as poetry;
I want to read the book to its entirety,
Most often a sour start can end so sweetly