I thought I screamed at you long ago
to stop,
to stop digging your Curare laced fingers
into my heart, and dragging me along by
twisted twine, but I didn’t.
I didn’t because you needed someone,
more than I needed relief and safety,
someone to heal you - not fix you.
Don’t ever try to fix people.
They are not clocks, but beautiful,
marvelous creatures with souls and fears,
and a mother who either loved them
or wished that they never existed.

I love you, I love you, I love you.
I’m sorry that you never learned that
you were never, or will ever be, a demon
trapped in angel’s skin, or that
your father treasured his shot glasses more than you,
or that your friends never loved anything but your wallet.
You are living proof that the world may be evil,
but it’s saturated with good. You are good.
I love you, I love you, I love, you.

I never screamed at you to stop,
not even when your nails threatened
to slice my aorta, because I have been healed
with the strength of a thousand sun-kissed dawns,
with a million drops of dew,
making something freshly new.
These things can heal you too,
but first you have to believe that
I love you, I love you, I love you;
I am a healer and you are good.