no, i'm not crying
it's just the sun in my eyes
showing me what's real
She sees him through a prism. It's difficult to look at him straight on, he shines too bright for human eyes so she peeks from time to time, just to make sure he's(more) really there.
He emanates white even when he's dressed in black.
I can't control what is taken away from me. I can only keep on or give up, there is no middle ground. No one can see inside my churning mind, it's all there, swirling together into a chaotic mess that only I can decipher.
When I was a little girl my Mother always knew if I was lying. "Stick out your tongue," she'd say, "I can tell you're lying if your tongue turns black."
So I tried not to lie. And my tongue remained pink.
I would tremble with fear before I walked in the Confessional, afraid to tell the truth to Father Joseph. I was taught he was a conduit to God and we were all born with a black mark on our soul. Original Sin, passed down to each one of us from Adam and Eve.
As I awaited my turn to step into that dark booth and kneel down to confess my sins I would search my soul, looking for sin. How could I be absolved if I had nothing to confess?
So I'd count up a few made up sins and begin my confession, "bless me Father for I have sinned" and rattle off a litany of menial sins starting with the sin of lying.