Confessions
I always admit to what’s true.
This is my humility and hubris.
When I bow my head
I’m asking for forgiveness.
Saying nothing would be my greatest virtue,
if only I could do it.
Tears don’t come easy.
When I cry, I must go to bed early.
Countless times each day I feel angry.
There’s a fire inside stealing my oxygen.
What does all this mean?
My intuition tells me the Universe
wants me to figure it out.
“All confessions are Odysseys.”
This poem was written on April 20, 2023.
©Brian Mueller - All rights reserved.
