I was never really heaven’s favorite child.
I failed
to prove my obedience
by asking “why” and “what if”.
And heaven offers no salvation for dreamers
unless they stay cloaked with its holy hues.
All I have left to show
for my dreams are lost love’s ashes
clinging to the souls of every one of my failures,
who in turn are ground into oblivion.
I never thought anyone
would find comfort or inspiration in my stories,
taking cautionary tales as aspirations,
insisting there’s gold beneath the grime.
I didn’t expect you, my daughter,
knowing the selectiveness of heavenly mercy,
would demand that heaven acknowledge you
and start living up to its ideals.
How can a parent ask their child
to be less than what they are,
to shrink their spirit
when they are finally ready
to shout truth in the face
of reactionary angels?
I may repent
an innumerable host of stupid decisions
but I refuse to renounce the greatest miracle
my disobedience has birthed.
Liner Notes for this Groove: I've been sick with COVID for the last week and a half. In between hacking up my lungs I got a chance to binge the musical series, Hazbin Hotel. While I enjoyed it, it's definitely not for everyone. The pacing gets a little crazy and there's a song/ scene that makes Fantine's
I Dreamed a Dream from Le Miz seem like Somewhere Over the Rainbow (they were not kidding around with the content warning for episode four). But I am a sucker for musicals and characters that are idealistic dorks, like Lucifer and Charlie.
