On Earth, everyone loved butterflies,
but I trusted the caterpillars more.
I trusted the ones who knew
they were not done growing.
On Earth, I was a work in progress,
was comforted in knowing
that I had a million mistakes still in me
to learn from. I changed my mind
more often than I changed my socks,
and whenever I was criticized
for mismatched thoughts, I’d say,
who wants to be today
who they were yesterday?
Becoming was how I prayed.
But here—I am past the finish line:
I have a heart of gold,
and I never have to dig for it.
I couldn’t do anything wrong if I tried,
and trust me, I try, but
I get hot-headed, and my rage
toasts the marshmallow on an angel’s
celestial s’mores. I lose my temper and find it
in the halo lost-and found box.
Lies won’t let me tell them.
they handed me a sticker
that said My Name Is and I wrote
Everyone by accident. I can’t remember
what selfishness is. Yesterday I said
something angry about an ex, and a quarter
of my tastebuds jumped off my tongue.
I’ve known nothing
of bitterness since.
Right before I died, I thought,
In the afterlife, I’ll apply for a job
at a mistake factory. They’ll be awed
by my resume. If anything, I’m overqualified.
But there’s no place where they make
mistakes here. Everyone is flawless.
Everyone’s blunders are photoshopped
right off their lives before
they even happen. Is this heaven
or hell? I can’t tell. I looked
that famous carpenter up
in the phone book, but his number
wasn’t listed, and I need to ask him
where to find the wood to build
some missteps. I’m not about to spend
eternity burning in the lie that holy
and perfect are the same thing.
Do you understand?
A promised land
is not a promised land
if I can’t keep learning
~ from You Better Be Lightning (Button Poetry, 2021)
