I made another drawing that’s a lie.
I have sinned. Between the longing and the desperation,
I have made an image that reflects reality so little
that pictures a hope that may not remain.
I have made another lie.
And it is a familiar one.
I have already learned that no matter how hard you hold them,
they can’t keep you here,
can’t keep you from slipping.
No matter how hard you breathe in their love for you,
you know they are fools by nature alone.
When you let go,
when you look away;
they are still gone.
All that remains is the sorrow
and the confusion, the pain,
and the anger, the hopelessness
and the lie that there could be more.
People don’t like their truth without hope and I apologize. But my new brain doesn’t seem to care all that much. It knows anger like I never have. And it knows that my kids won’t come home to the mother they deserved.