Words Left Unspoken

In a bathroom stall I receive all the world’s truths
I’m a priest in a confession booth
Hidden from the faces of my confessors
I hear their stories
Of their weak shortcomings
Their desperate attempts
With my elbows on my knees I shake my head and say:
“I forgive you, brother, and I’ll carry that burden also,”
Then I flush

It was back when the squinty little slits smiled almost perpetually
Radiant with compassion and love
But in a sense weak with compromise
Sacrifice as a staple, an affliction
Ugliness held closе like an unwanted gasp of air
Slits grown swollen, thеn rugged, and cry out, “Things that I used to do, Lord, I won’t do no more”