We sweep the earth.

We sweep the earth.
Our backs bend towards the heavens.
The moist from our lips
giving thanks to the land.

We sweep the earth
to comfort the spirits of the dead.
The feathers in our hairs,
we & the spirits are one.

We sweep the earth
when it’s angry & the rivers weep.
Forgive our sins.
We are your children.

We sweep the earth.
It’s time to sleep & to wake.
We sweep the earth
for another splendid day.

Whiskey Bottom.

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I live a half life, yo,
that I’m always guilty for.
Sorry I was born.
Sorry I was a girl.
Sorry they almost divorced.
Sorry they stayed together.

I learned to compromise
and call nowhere home.
No directions, no set belief.
So what am I guilty for?
Sorry I was never young.
Sorry I don’t like people.

Sorry I lie because
I don’t want to talk
to convince you something
I can’t wrap my head around.
Sorry I change my mind.
Sorry I walk you into a trap.

I remember what I said at seven
to convince my parents.
I remember the moment
I discovered a tape
that turned my care-free
into bone-deep suspicion.

I’m sorry that I’m sorry.
I feel guilty feeling this.
Am I supposed to grow up?
Why does it feel like death?
What do I have to adjust
to feel like a well-adjusted person?

I say “sorry” to myself.
I’ve let myself down.
Not owning my differences,
still not cutting it.
Maybe just a little space,
a breath, at whiskey bottom.