V. H. King's Ink

sadness lonely/ lovely
hollowed/ hallowed exhausted/ exalted
thin (as in thinned out, losing substance, phasing
out of existence) silent/ unheard
powerless thinking about surrender
as a willing release

and then again as that other forced bent-to-breaking
when what you love is yanked from your grasp.
there is relief, either way. thinking of demands

for total and unyielding devotion. thinking
of rebellion and despair. thinking of extravagant welcome
under the worst circumstances. thinking of isolation
when surrounded by those whose opinion you’re unsure of,

familiar faces following the orders of the Master. you
wonder—do they say to themselves “not my business?”
do they show restraint in their scorn; neutrality on your sins,
subtle gentleness for your future days? you can’t tell
what they say about you from their too-obvious glances
shared over your shoulder while forcing a smile. meanwhile,

your brother is screaming and your father turns:
away from him, and towards you, and you wish
there was an easier apology. but who am I to confess my shame
to those who have held to their straight and narrow?
I have punished myself enough, and will not kneel
to the contempt of others. may their snide commentary
cut their own lips, because I’m thinking again

about the leader of a band of thieves pleading “please don’t
make me do this again” and how much of my life I’ve lost
to feeling like a fucking ghost and how you invited me
to allow myself that haunting and so now
I’m thinking about how hope is always so damn distant;
how sometimes it’s the only thing that lets me close my eyes for the night—

just like the utter defeat when God has taken your rib and dislocated
your hip: cheating to win, condemning all before birth
yet promising eternal life if only you are perfect—but what use is that
when even perfection is sacrificed for the sake of another? if God’s
is the long game, and every second felt exponentially as deeply,
how long has God been still: searching, watching, somewhere,

outside of it all. are you looking? a life only shows itself
once, and I must have blinked. when does God open?