Shame

Something she said
shook loose the memory
and it fell at my feet,
like rancid cigarettes
from a vending machine
dispensing shame,

and I hated being its hostage,
and it took everything in my power
not to steal a Xanax
from my daughter's stash
because the thoughts kept
parading by
with predictable circus mockery
and I prayed for God
to just take me right then
and I wept softly
because He didn’t,
my back to her
so she’d never see.

I learned early on
some are
cherry picked
for love because
they were
born right,

and perhaps Jesus
is just the story
the rest of us tell ourselves
to make it easier
to live with
the dispassionate fact:

some are born
to be loved
and the rest of us are born
to earn it.

[Written and posted for #OpenLinkNight at www.dversepoets.com - come along and share your heart.]