i wait for a call that almost sounds like home
but it is the weeping of the sea as she rolls
over the shore and aches as she pulls back
the layers are revealed, and the grown
turn cold shoulders
yet i am still small, kneeling in the sand,
shells piled like jewels
in my hands
the sky is sobbing and i am trying
to figure out why
everyone here cannot see the gift
of a God who cares enough to refine
there is a pulling in my chest,
right between the bottom of both my ribs
calling for the chance to be pierced
hard enough to bleed
they are all searching. searching for
something to fulfill. and i -
i am constantly racing to unclog as if
i were a drain overflowing with junk.
here am i! i want to scream. but even
that conviction isn't quite reckless enough.
i can never seem to feel the right
thing at the right time. i am
the clock that chimes three minutes too late.
/x
