The Rule


There is a rule about the past,

You must acknowledge it and accept it before we move on,

And you must understand that it doesn’t care about you.

You can always go back, but it will not be meant for you.

New tire swing sets that reeked of rubber and imagination

No longer fit the heaviness you carry

You can go back, but it sits there worn out and unused

Hanging by the tethered, moldy rope.

The choruses of your favorite song from when you were

Thirteen and too dumb to give up just yet

But too self-aware to not try

Are not meant for you now,

You can listen, you can picture the cushion in the corner

Of your favorite teacher’s classroom and how

It supported your weight then

You can go back, but it’s lying to you now.

You can go back to your mother’s arms, but she is small

Smaller than she used to be, taking up less space

In your life than you remember she did

When you stumbled and cried and wept 

In her arms,

You remember her hair used to flutter in the sky

And she brushed the eyelashes glued to your cheeks

By your own mishaps, and rocked you

You can go back, you can go back to her arms

But you will be the one holding up her weight.

This rule is the hardest you will ever face,

And it will never change, and it knows this,

And it will never care as much about you, as you

Care about it.


Please enter your comment!
Please enter your name here