The Sin

It’s midnight again.
I’m regretting the late night snack that was meant to feed my internal guilt.
I chug 12 Oz of water to relieve and wash this guilt down.
I lay in bed and wait for my new lifesaver to kick in, melatonin gummies.
My heart racing from my returned tachycardia that signals a trauma anniversary approaches.

As I breath to calm my rattling heart, I think: I’ve spent my whole life at the bottom of Maslow’s hierarchy.

Just let me breath.
Just let me feel full.
Just let me feel warm.
Just let me be able to sleep.

Just let me feel safe.

Safety in the micro: my own body.
Safety in the mezzo: my own family.
Safety in the macro: my own community.

I just want to wake up and fall asleep without my first thoughts and my last thoughts be about my guilt for my existence.

Did my parents sin or partake in a sin?
Am I a sin or am I the result of sin?

Is sin a label
Is sin a name?
Is sin a pronoun?

Why can’t we just let it be the verb it’s meant to be.

An action separate from the person’s worth.

Because maybe then my parent’s act of attraction would make me attractive…

Instead of an act of sin making me a sin.

And I wouldn’t be failing at falling asleep, belly stuffed with food and water to curtail thoughts of fear, breathing rapidly trying to keep up with my racing heart that can’t feel peace, and attempting to fill the very minimum criteria for living and feeling guilty about it.

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