The thought of being there
Makes me sick with dread
My stomach actually turns upon itself
Ready to vomit someone else’s plan for me
And asks the new me who I have become
To banish all thoughts of it
But I cannot and never will
Forget sitting there
In rulered rows of mauve chairs
Turning the pages of my bible
On the cover
The date of my baptism inscribed
My fate decided
As it lay on my skirted lap
My small fingers
Searching
The answer is here
It’s supposed to be here
I’m told to go back
And look again
But I just can’t
Makes me sick with dread
My stomach actually turns upon itself
Ready to vomit someone else’s plan for me
And asks the new me who I have become
To banish all thoughts of it
But I cannot and never will
Forget sitting there
In rulered rows of mauve chairs
Turning the pages of my bible
On the cover
The date of my baptism inscribed
My fate decided
As it lay on my skirted lap
My small fingers
Searching
The answer is here
It’s supposed to be here
I’m told to go back
And look again
But I just can’t
Beautifully expressed. As you know I can completely relate.
ReplyDelete