Conversions

September 8, 2025 - Day 1 of Writing Poetry Until I Feel Better

Summer is the season of sadness-

church is the only place I can think.

Every night you show up in my dreams

to give me a second chance.

Who am I when I’m alone?

Do I like her better?

I don’t want to grow

but I long to plant my feet in fertile soil

and feel my skin thicken to bark.

Everything experiences change.

Everything is over.

Everything is surreal.

I am not Catholic.

I get the blessing.

I almost vomit in the priests hands.

I used to be happy with myself-

swinging in silence;

pondering;

staring at the bird berries.

My leaves are turning

all kinds of colors.

And I cannot move.

I wish I were you so I could

be loved by me

I wish I were you so I could

set you free

I wish I were Catholic

so I could blindly believe

It is possible that the grace of god is real

I’m not built to see