(Borrowed Sunshine, re-imagined for spoken word)
Some mornings,
the sun slides its fingers under my eyelids
too softly.
Like it's apologizing
for choosing me again.
I wake up
like a thief
caught sleeping in a house I never built,
heart pounding like
they're gonna find out.
They're gonna know.
This isn’t my joy.
It’s someone else’s skin
stitched clumsily
onto the ghost of who I used to be.
See, good things come
like strange birds
landing on my open palm,
tilting their heads like “you sure you're the one?”
Like I'm just a scarecrow that fooled the heavens
for one short, shimmering second.
And I’m smiling, yeah -
but my teeth feel rented.
Like this happiness is a suit
I found in a fire sale
with the tags still on.
Too bright.
Too clean.
Too loud against the dirt still clinging
to my name.
People say,
“you deserve it,”
like it’s scripture,
but the words bounce off me
like pennies off a casket.
I want to believe them,
but somewhere inside me -
there’s a cathedral made of rot,
stained glass windows filled with every “I’m sorry”
I ever swallowed
just to keep from choking on myself.
The light doesn’t know what it’s touching.
It lands on me like
I’m a monument to someone better.
Someone who bled and built
without cursing the tools.
Someone who kissed the mirror
without flinching.
But I -
I am a walking contradiction.
A funeral with confetti.
A cracked halo spinning on a crooked neck.
I burned bridges
and then wept
when the night came too fast.
So now -
when joy dances in my kitchen,
I don't know if I'm supposed to join in
or call the cops.
When love says my name
like it's sacred,
I look over my shoulder,
thinking she meant someone
less haunted.
And yeah,
I know the world is bleeding.
I know there are mouths that have never tasted ease.
So when life hands me a feast,
I wonder -
who went hungry for this?
Maybe I’m a glitch in the algorithm.
A typo in the universe’s plan.
The sunbeam that landed where the shadow should’ve stayed.
But I’m here.
Still.
Breathing.
Breaking softly
in a room full of gold.
Wearing light like a borrowed coat,
praying no one asks
for the receipt.