We are all so very fragile.*
We are all so very rare.
We should treat each and every one of us as jewels
in God’s hair.
I do not know how to do it.
I cannot do it, that I know.
But I know a God who can
And I want his crown to glow.
Some say it is not difficult to be a little kind.
I say it is impossible, unless he’s deep inside.
Many people seem far nicer than me,
At least from the outside, from what I can see,
Far, far nicer than I want to admit.
Then again, I will not be the one on the throne judging it.
I am not the one for whom the play was writ,
I was never the play writer, just a tiny part bit.
I splay feet oddly when I waddle and I overthink.
I’m deaf and mute and pick at zits.
Much more’s wrong than I have a clue yet.
But when he shows me, he will dress the wound best.
I don’t think there could possibly be a better
resolution to my mess.
You can search, if you want to,
but I like his balm the best.
*This first line
starts almost like the Ingrid Michaelson song “Girls and Boys”. I didn’t
intentionally mean that, but I don’t want to be guilty of plagiarism, so there
you have it.
