Even after I ask,
“Who will love me now?”
And Jesus replies,
“I will always love you.”
After I stare the sun down
’til my eyes go blind.
After I scroll endlessly,
like a chimp with a cocaine lever,
looking for something
that will never be there.
After I say no to weed
again, and again, and again —
though it promises to soothe,
to sweet talk me into rest.
After I lift weights
’til my body breaks,
’til I can’t press one more rep.
After I walk,
I run,
I sprint the track
until I drip sweat like rain.
After I’ve kicked the doors down
that needed to be kicked —
and when kindness called,
I’ve worn kid gloves.
After I’ve saved the day for my kids,
and they love me.
After I’ve ruined the day for my kids,
and they hate me.
After I’ve worked all the hours I can work,
paid the debts,
met the savings goal.
After I’ve turned from the quick fix,
chosen the slow burn of growth,
kept my promises to myself.
After my health has slipped,
my integrity bent.
After I’ve argued with myself like a lawyer,
after I’ve stuck myself up,
jammed a nine millimeter in my own face.
Even if fear were to vanish,
even after love gained,
love lost,
love returned,
or gone forever.
After new friends,
after old friends,
after all the coming and going —
I must learn to sit still with myself.
To breathe calm
in the middle of the hurricane.
To watch rainbows rise,
to watch storms pass.
I must find a way to live,
a way I never knew before.