Make a delicious mistake.
Fuck up once in awhile.
After all, I invented peanut butter and jelly sandwiches
by throwing and shattering bright jars when I was six.
Yes I did.
I invented the Frisbee when I flung a plateful of broccoli
my mom was forcing me to eat out the window.
Yes I did.
I invented S’mores
when an intolerably fascist camp counselor
told me I could only have a single dessert:
so I smushed three into one.
What did You invent by stumbling and dropping things,
by your glorious lack of impulse control?
Go ahead, tell me everything.
Or tell an exquisite lie, so outrageous it might be true.
“I invented the way light shatters in the prism of a raindrop
twenty billion times to create the first rainbow.”
I believe you, Friend.
Now listen to me: Whoever God is,
She embraces the whole hot mess.
She lavishes extraneous Life on us,
and a host of Second Chances,
by permitting impeccable blunders like
the uncertain location of an electron,
the mutation in a molecule of cytosine
that created your original ancestor,
the chain of non-causation that lead
to this look on your face,
the way blackness engenders stars
in the chaos of a hole at the center of the galaxy,
the all-pervading fragrance of your first love.
So if you were never sentenced
to the time-out chair in kindergarten
or sent to the principle’s office in grade school,
if you never cut class to explore
the wilderness in your soul
or skipped church to attend the carnival
in your body,
if you never got tear-gassed in the street
when you were in college,
never got fired from a job,
never spent a single night in jail,
or drank the sky like whiskey
from a morning glory’s cup,
dear one, you might not actually
Fuck Up by Fred LaMotte
I’ve been in the same place
as you when everyone
I loved and
came crashing down.
it makes a kind
of roaring sound
in your head
and it won’t stop,
it won’t stop
until you cry it out
and get to the anger
and the pain
and the loss
that feels so deep
that you will never
find the bottom of it.
but you do
find the bottom of it
if you will just
keep diving down
and holding every
ounce of courage
until you land
on sacred ground,
and that place
feels like your heart,
for the very first time
it feels like you
are in love
you left behind
a very long time ago
and that someone
and you’re home.
you’re finally home
and you can breathe,
and you can
and you can love again,
and you feel
a kind of peace
and it is over
and you are found,
you are found.
found by Scott Lockhart / austin 2017
I asked the clouds for answers but they did not listen
or maybe they were just pretending not to pay attention.
Then I turned to the sun in its burning glory but there was nothing
it was too busy shining on lovers in their secret loving places.
I begged the seagulls for absolution but they just laughed
as they floated free above me shrieking the news I was already forgiven.
I shouted to the circle of the earth to give me peace but it just continued it’s carefree circling
acting like everything was perfectly in order already.
I pleaded with the moon to set me free but it just continued to smile at me lovingly
not worried about my lack of sleep in the least.
I screamed to the four winds to come and deliver me from all this madness but, for the first time in history, they refused to blow
leaving me right where I was standing with nowhere else to go.
At long last, I said to myself, I will stop talking and just listen and as I fell silent, the questions did as well
and in that listening came all I had ever needed to know as I quietly walked home.