Genuine

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