Home > Uncategorized > turn us into miracles

turn us into miracles

You think the picture is finished
but it isn’t. It’s true
that my heart is stained glass, but
it is also kaleidoscope, always
reforming, making beauty
out of the impossible,
and I love you
with every shattered
little piece, never questioning
whether or not
you are worth it, never weighing
what is weightless
but still heavy. Kisses aren’t rocks
on scales, and neither are hearts,
there is no balance, only
the promise that it will
all work out. Better men
call it faith, but I am no man
so I call it hope. Sometimes
I whisper your name at night
because it’s the only way
to conjure you next to me.

This is everything I have to give,
heart as open as a church door,
hands like rosaries, waiting
for you to come say your prayers.

I know how it looks,
I know the way empty space
fills up with what’s unsaid,
that there’s no guarantee that god
is even listening – would you be surprised
to find that I still pray? Sometimes,
old habits resurrect themselves
and I can’t stop it. You are not
an old habit. You are the marrow
in my bones, and I don’t know
how or when that even happened,
but here we are. Come
with all your quiet shame, every
bad moment and worst fear, every
ounce of your swollen heart, all the little
nightmares you never let live out loud –
give them to me, and I will
take each pain and make a mosaic
out of what some call ruined,
undeserving, unworthy.

is its own grace, and some
hearts are bandages
for the wounds
we never admit to even ourselves –
the secret
is that I love you
with all that is whole
inside me, with all that is
shattered, too. Sometimes
it is our so-called flaws
that turn us
into miracles, the way light
falls through stained glass, taking
broken and making it into
something new.

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