TW: Dementia, foster care

I laugh at a cruel joke.
Regret creeps up my neck.
Why did I think that was funny?
I carry this question the rest of the day.
I try to fall asleep with it settling
in the back of my mind
but a nightmare wakes me.
My fear is what if every word
that I ever created
came alive and followed me?
Would they be ugly?
Something I would beg to hide?
Would they scare me?
Would I pretend to not see them standing there?
Would they try to hurt me?
Or would they go after the people around me?
Would I be ashamed to introduce them?
Would I want them to be popular?
Would I be proud
to let them walk beside me?
I’m afraid not,
and that embarrasses me.
There are so many things
language can create,
poetry, lyrics, scripts,
recipes, love letters,
get well soon and birthday
and anniversary
and thank you cards,
graduation invitations,
a powerful story,
a best man’s speech,
a moving eulogy,
instructions, directions, captions,
letters of recommendations,
compliments,
and apologies.
I don’t want to waste my voice
creating monsters.
If my words were personified
I’d want them to be the doctor
who holds the daughter
of the man newly diagnosed with dementia
as she weeps into their white coat.
She is not their patient
but they take care of her anyway.
I’d want them to be the mother
who looks into her infant’s blind eyes
and sees a perfect baby.
I’d want them to resemble Jesus
when He said, “Forgive them Father,
they know not what they do.”
I’d want my words
to look like the social worker
that replaces trash bags
with a suitcase.
I’d want them to be the photographer
that sheds a tear themselves
as they capture 2 brides sobbing down the aisle together.
I’d want them to be a counselor,
a pastor,
an artist,
an activist,
a teacher,
a friend,
someone I am proud to be seen with,
someone I am not ashamed to name.
I’d want them to be
someone that speaks up for what is right,
encourages those in pain.
I want my voice to only create
kind, gentle, beautiful things.