Twenty Somethings

the innocence of childhood

is long forgotten,

crumbling three states away

in the back of my grandmother’s closet.

years later,

I now understand things

that I used to pray to a god

(who I no longer believe in)

to shield my fragile heart from.

hate and misery cling to my skin,

unforgiving and salty sweet

in the texas heat.

I cannot help but wonder where time went

and think about how somewhere

in a parallel universe,

my righteous and pious heart 

might have remained intact.

I long for the nativity of

lanky legs running barefoot down the street

and giggles under the blankets,

but instead I am left with suffering

that is almost religious.

Forgetting is painful,

but it is remembering 

that hurts the most.

How do I let go?