She holds a soft landing place, lifts my spirit out of heavy rock.
She tells me this will not last forever, that I am not stupid,
that I am smart enough not to think I am that stupid.
She tells me that my prayers are not defective.
It seems that a god or a genius should be able to conquer
the mess that is I, but she assures me they can’t, I can’t.
She tells me that we might not fix me but that I am good broken.

Only real angels love you when you’re broken
and do not require that you be fixed.
Bad devils want to smash you into a plastic
doll who can survive earth and her people.
She reminds me that I am not pottery.
She knows that I am more broken than pottery could ever be,
but she tells me that I won’t cry forever, that pain does not kill.

She tells me that if we get desperate, we can fry me,
but we are not that desperate.  I am good broken for now.