Bored Immigrant Poetry

I’m scared to write about you
for my heart is too fragile
and too vulnerable
to whisper truths about
who you were in my life;
the sacrifices you made,
the pain I caused,
the way I lived my life out of your sight,
the horrific secrets I kept while you were
still breathing,
the guilt, the shame, oh, especially the guilt!
God, have mercy on my soul!
I wanted to go with you, be with you,
and be raised by you all over again.
if only I could bring back time,
if only I could have listened more,
if only I could have told you about my
fanfares; the unimaginable adventures,
the lies I told myself and about myself,
the tears I shared with nature,
the laugh I shared with people who never cared…
oh, if only you could hear me,
if only I could hold you,
if only I could still talk to you,
if only I could play scrabble with you!
Did you know how long I had pretended
that your full presence was still with me?
How I couldn’t wait to confine myself in a
tiny room, believing we were having a blast
engaging in a whatnot conversation
over coffee?
How I would look for huge brown butterflies
in the strangest places just so I
would know you were fine?

Oh, father, I have so much to tell you
once my time is up.
I cannot wait to be with you!
What’s heaven like?

In the meantime, help me wash away the guilt!
Help me become an accomplished
human through your beautiful essence,
through your resilient spirit.
Help me, oh, help me… go home!

Please, father, help me, oh, help me…
… go home.