I harmed what might not heal.
The wound
remains wide open.
Blood behaves as usual.
Nothing grows here.
Not yet.
When accountability arrives,
there will be
no hiding.
No masks
need adjusting.
Skin turns translucent.
Thoughts flare.
Nothing about secrecy
remains clothed.
I will not shrivel
before my accusers.
Truth endures
and remains
indestructible.
I do not know
the verdict.
I do not know
the punishment.
I do not know
if I survive.
Angels whisper
in corners.
Light slips
through cracks.
Perhaps my halo
is tarnished,
but it rests
on my head.
About the Creator
Tina D. Lopez
A woman who writes to deal with hurt, mistakes--mine and others, and messy emotions. Telling my truth, from the heart, with no sugarcoating.
My book Love Ain’t No Friend of Mine is available on Amazon. https://a.co/d/6JYBmLH
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December 8, 1980
When I was six or seven, my stepdad came into my life, and I remember thinking he knew everything. He could befriend anybody, anywhere. In grocery stores, he chatted with strangers over cuts of meat; at gas stations, he bonded with people pumping fuel over how the smell of gasoline was disgusting and yet enjoyable. In restaurants, he took an interest in waiters’ lives—like Steve, whose father was dying of cancer. When Steve’s dad died, my new dad attended the funeral.
By Tina D. LopezExclusive • 24 days ago
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