thorn

You are a thorn in my side. Inside

I am at my wits end,
imitating a patient self
I met some years ago. But

if I look too closely,
you are there, staring, knowingly. It
scares me.

With filed edges
I trim coarseness
tryingly-- but you

are at the very root.
My seed of life. A maker
From the Hand above.

I hate it.
And I don't
want to/

[I] hate you.

Heart Stitches

What pries open the hand-stitched heart?

The fact that it has been lent to someone to
- borrow
- inspect out of mere interest
- use out of necessity
- throw away when done with

At the end of this
sew my heart back up again
please

So it will be
seemingly fresh
for the next person to
use.

Craftsman.

I spent my morning looking into Your eyes,
I wanted to say "Forgive me, but I don't understand Your love?"

The arvo bristled by, asleep at the sound of Your voice
I wondered why You even bothered to begin with.

Both Your hands out, while the evening came
Some contentedly spat in Your palm, and waited.

If You were here, would I collapse on my knees
And wash Your feet with my tears?

And this is my only truth:
I am expendable and lost without You.

I know I was born with a fractured heart.
You are the glue.

Aloneness is elusive,
Autonomy - impossible.

For what purpose have You built me?
How am I designed my Lord?

I ask this of my Creator,
the Mender of my soul.

Jesus,
Collect my pieces.

Put me back together again.