Let me call a thing what it is
and claim I know what I am inside.
Let me dream again of an unexpected kiss
that I’ll never receive again for all my life.
Let me force my mind to repeat,
over and over despite the pain,
the memory of how it feels to be complete
with the knowledge that I will not feel it again.
Let me think on other lives,
lives so different, that I might have led
where all my thoughts were not denied
by all the sounds that come from the hole in my head.
Let me live this other life
where no one I love had ever been hurt,
where goodness poured out like a cut from a knife,
and the past isn’t covered with regret and cold dirt.