Remember when I was young? I rather
not. The sins from then still stain
the once ivory light I shine. Bright,
unyielding naivete colored those movements.
Wherever I went, my shadows inflicted pain,
I am not asking for contrition, Father.
I am unworthy, but I fetch a good price
in the market. The one online where
we're always shouting. Listening
to this plague of intrusive broadcasts
is the penance already. I can leave it?
Where else am I to shill?
I didn't have to back then, and yet I did.
The retrospect churns my insides. It hits
me in the soft, fleshy mass of conscience
I apparently had. I've been had.
Yes, I know I'm loved, but not by Him.
Them, yes. They're nice—real even. Who am I
to deny charity. The gift horse's mouth?
Bliss ceases where knowing begins. I rather not
advertise? I ain't selling a thing. I don't
yell in Divisoria. I've only been there once.
It's not a transaction? Thank God. I should
thank them for that. I owe them. They
deserve better. Although, I am better.
Looking back, The shadows cast
by my once ivory light in the dark
allegorical cave were only for
my entertainment. I looked back when
the momentum was forward.
There is no Icarus. I choose to be
under the sun, even if it burns. I am not alone,
even if sometimes I am. Now, especially, there
are no longer