doing beautiful works,
are still dirty?
dimming at the rapture
i cannot get the words expressed.
i hope to one day find an ounce of your being in someone else,
someone who is allowed to love with all they have.
someone not held back by society or circumstance.
but for now, i lie dormant at your doorstep,
hoping for the chance to let you see anything you’d like to,
take apart my very mind and keep the pieces that will keep me in your sight.
our dirty hands are not allowed to touch,
lest we create a spark so bright
they dare to put us out.
these hands make for a lovely soul, yearning to walk upwards without change of self.
our dirty hands are not the ones in need of cleansing,
our love is not the one in need of changing.
you and i, we are the ones who love with all we have,
we are the ones happy to suffer at the ends of the earth in order to give those we long for freedom.
love is accepted in the form of begging and lies,
coercing and exasperated sighs,
throwing things and vicious rendezvous,
“he just likes you!”
our dirty hands can’t too be swept by lust’s mighty flood?
when some of the world’s greatest creations came from the mud.