To be Known and Adored
- [S]-Julia Marlowe
- Jun 26
- 2 min read
![Writer: [S]-Julia Marlowe](https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/a/ACg8ocLiSv4Tjh9Y1yury0ermHFWXgI8RuLrsI8BzCY0rwL2fUFhd3bK%3Ds96-c)
I keep my courage in the fridge.
The last place a thief would ever look.
Unless they're hungry.
In that case, they could have it.
They can keep it.
I ration it out
in little Ziploc bags.
A waste of perfectly good plastic.
And I don't seem to need it anymore.
'Cause I've quit all my brave acts.
Hung up my stuntman-jacket on the clothesline
to dry and
someone made away with it.
In the dead of night.
A real big-screen tragedy.
I never called the police.
Because I already had a list of suspects.
They were all weak alibis and interrogation room confessions.
No one seemed to have anything better to do.
I keep making the same mistake.
And I wish someone would just teach me a lesson
because I don't know any better.
Where's my blame?
Where's my guilty accusation? The justice?
Where's my wanted poster and the bounty on my head?
Will we continue to pretend that I have never lied?
Never taken selfishly?
Begged, screamed, fought.
How many crimes have I committed?
Can deception be counted among them?
For people walk around and look at me with kind eyes.
They say kinder things.
I do not deserve any of them.
When they handcuff me,
running live on channel 5, turning myself in on the police department steps,
will friends protest my innocence?
Will they be horrified, drowning in the filth scraped from the hands of my betrayal?
Will they hate me?
Or worse, did they know all along, and love me despite it?
If they heard every indiscretion of my short life read aloud in court,
and they still wrote me letters,
telling me about their dog's surgery,
including photos of their Popham trip,
and asking if I'm eating enough in prison. What a horrific fate, to be loved with flaws.
To be both known and adored.
To give the same confession every day
and be assured that I have the facts all wrong.
All my grime can be scrubbed away.
Every little error can be forgiven.
What a strange thought.
-Sunni Usagi-Koi
My curiosity is a virtue
until I begin to probe at the things I'm not supposed to
I know what I did was stupid.
Doesn't mean it's worth so much regret.
But I have dreams
of things beyond what I find in my English textbook
It was abrasive, yes,
And not at all well-researched.
They told me to follow my dreams
Yet never warned me that I may follow them too far.
Not all dreams are warm sweater thoughts
This dream of mine came waking; and was scrawled inside my eyelids
With invisible ink.
I had to have the right kind of sickness to see it.
And of course I did, because I'm writing this now.
Because for the first…