It is beyond my ever-obvious limits
Lay it down, here, on the floor
Your heavy expectations- I cannot hold them
I’ve been learning, see, what my arms can hold
And what they cannot.
I am not you
There’s delight there, see? Only one you, only one me
Are you not glad to be singular?
I know, I know you see all my flaws
Who doesn’t? Yet, some are tied
And knotted, and woven, into the good, the gold.
He knew what a busted pot He’d chosen for His kitchen
Madam, aren’t your arms tired?
Hold your goodness; it is yours, perhaps
Discard these stones, mixed in- they are not good for you either.
There. Good. We can embrace now, see?
You, being you, me being me.