she picks the cat hair
off my clothes
but why can't a soul
be de-linted as quickly
because your beard
is still on my neck
and I carry you around
like the luggage
that weighs you down
in an airport
or the weight of the sea
on your chest
when you try
come up for breath
and tell me why is it so much easier
to stay obsessed about
a love that never happened
than a love that never ends
I'm talking Jesus, people
where are my Jesus people?
and why do I pretend like
the weight of luggage
or the weight of the waves
is anything compared to
the weight of a cross?
Christ, I'm a mess.
Christ. I'm a mess.
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