poems: confused as a thorn

and your tears split down your cheeks which do not restore any well , the ache by the twitch of the dead won't bring back their breath and the prayers, either unheard or ignored, I am not sure which is worse and like how a surgeon sees nothing but stitches or how a dressmaker only sees seams, I, a grand child of war only feels guilt, reserved for the living the watching and how blessed/helpless are we, like a tree producing fruit no one will eat and how I wish I had a boat big enough like noah, or the strength of solomon or the love of of of a god I would take every hand in mine and love it thoroughly for love is just another form of 

but i am just a girlgrowingwoman

i am not jesus

💓

maybe they invented god, to invent love, 

but like any made thing, 

we could not understand the uncondtional, so we gave love rules,

and we knew no god except

mother and father so love had punishment 

so then we knew no love without violence, so thus came pain 

my writing understands more than I do

I muddy the waters I drink from

and wonder why I am sick. 

💓

At the edge of the road, by the fountain lit

my eyes cast a wide net, hoping, tender

to meet yours

I ignore the bird song, 'I am here!'

I forget the horses drawing cart,   'here!'

the wind on my face,  'I am this'

the sun burning my neck,  'I am the sun, the light, the burning, the neck!'

I ignore, I forget

and my eyes keep casting wide empty nets.