I am held by you and feel nothing
Maybe I am selfish?
A butterfly lives in our kitchen.
I wish I had broken plates and dishes,
not trust.
I am killing myself
because I hurt you
I am selfish.
I hold and help no one.
My suffering is sacred,
I treat yours like a nick
a scratch
a graze on the knee
I deify my own.
God help me, I am Jesus.
When storming is more honest,
instead I chose the cross.
The moon bursts me open and
I love you
and the butterfly in our kitchen.
I am fearful and needy.
Even wanting your forgiveness,
is all about what you can do
for me,
me
me.
Sionnachaí 