Where are you when I am less than
and want to stone myself for my own transgressions.
But, guilty as charged: I’m not perfect. Am I
allowed to cast stones on even myself?
And sometimes I wonder whose hands are
the most. Now I have said something terrible.
But you are not normal. Lion’s
in your eyes. I think that’s why I love you.
And I am a fool. I can hardly tell the difference between
and drowning. Will you catch me either way?
I question that you’re the sky; I think you are the
and dirt. Besides, that is where I am made every day.