Sometimes I tell myself that it's okay to feel this way,
that God gets tired too,
that sometimes He is the small child
slaving over a sewing machine
turning thread into warmth,
but not every sweater He makes
is made without a few loose strings,
or pockets sewn shut
or mismatched buttons.
My knees sink into the end of my bed
as I rest my elbows on my window sill.
I think as our hands face each other
and touch for the millionth time,
it's like a silent clap
that only the angels can here,
sometimes I apologize
to those resting in peace
for making their home sound more like
the ending of the movie
instead of the end of the book.
I greet God the same way
I greet your headstone.
I ask Him how He is,
why He only speaks in light,
and then I pretend to talk to Him,
when really I am talking to myself
or your headstone...again.
I say, "It's okay to feel this way.
I think it's okay to watch,
to write in depth about strangers,
I think it's okay to detach
yourself from the weight of existing.
Everyone around me built
they kept fire breathing dragons,
rolled out their drawbridges like red carpets
and I built myself a cardboard castle.
I built it on the highest hill
with a view of all of the kingdoms
and you know what?
I was alone,
but I had room to breathe
and sometimes that's all you can ask for;
an empty room with a closed door
and open window.
I said grace at dinner earlier,
but I said it out of tradition,
not out of genuine thankfulness.
So, thank you for the empty room
with the closed door and open window,
I know you're tired,
I hope you can respond when you get a chance."