I ask forgiveness for not
mirroring your steps—
counting in a whisper,
staring at my feet
forward and back-tracking,
unable to hold onto
the grace I can see
flickering in the dusk
like a field of starry
lightning bugs—
years of stale, empty mason jars
cradled in my hands.

you say I need confidence,
to talk freely, relax,
not question
the smiles of those
I know are disappointed in me.
Just breathe.
Don’t you understand that
this is all I have ached for?
Don’t you know how desperately I wish
I could mold my mind and emotions
into worthy artistry that no
one would be ashamed to love?

you say to let go,
but my shame replays
its treasured moments back,
shadow puppets in a
dimly-lit cell, never silent.
I know I wear the words “jesucristo basta“
in a band of sterling silver on
my right hand—
still thinking that
if I run myself ragged to the
end of the world
maybe I will finally

be enough
for you.