Poema Poem by Martin Byrne

I is dead
Went to bed alone
Felt the alone
Alone so thick you
can cut it with a knife
I don't touch knives though
He left me, perhaps he wasn't even here
I've anticipated His return, though
Gentle, He will lift me onto his shoulders
I am so down I no longer get
butterflies or angry in my gut
I get it in my feet
Please lift me up
Sweep me off my feet

I is risen
I woke up next to Him today
It was wonderful, to have my anticipation
Unrealized
You know that you're depressed
when you're surprised by the best
He draped an arm over me
Helped me get out of bed and shower
Took me to another side of myself
and slowly clipped the tic-tac-toe nails of
My foots anticipation

I will come again
My toenails were clipped
Defenses down
Anticipation gone
He left
Said wait
I do
I wait