Childhood story

What they would read
from the book of life
to put me to sleep
was no fairy tale, not quite

but when I confessed
with half a voice
and my thick accent
that I’ve been a sinner
since before I was even
conceived,

you held me tight
in your clean mirror eyes
as if, like the breeze
of a simple thought,
I could
change my mind.

You held me
in the sweat of your hands
without a fingerprint

and somewhere beyond words
you knew exactly
how to be the prince
in my once fucked up
childhood story.

You knew exactly why,
all the right metaphors
and the exact phrase
which proved
beyond reasonable doubt

that I was never the villain.