I told God about you
and I cried
tears that refused to fall
finding heartbroken symphonies
in between my bruised knuckles,
I sang your name to him
with quiet melodies
that never made sense.
I told him about the times
you saw me,
more than just a poet
with a bag of regrets
slung over her shoulder
like a tool kit.
You saw me as me
big eyes and healing scars
and everything you shouldn’t love
but you did anyway.