scary tear

I am on a scary tear. 
Please God, don't cry 
I am s'aint. STOP. Stop
fancy punctuation, fool!
God is not impressed by
how you prey on words
incorrectly, so knock it
off!

OK, I'm no saint, don't
try to be. Too much tolerance
for prey animals and wild
beasts, no patience to speak
of: just ok with it. Some
saint I'd make! Sanding up
there on Big Mike, trying to
rap to the clouds? Halo cocked
at a rakish angel? KEEP IT. 

I pass. It's not my job to judge
self. I'm so incompetent at it,
sin me for the mention, even.

I do try 

to keep fit, sane, healthy, 
because self-care is not 
merely alright, but a right. 

Skip the happy, I say. Go
for joy, alone. If Joy shows 
up, tell her "your welcome
is assured here, Joy!" She'll 
take a pass on that, don't worry. 

She can tell you meant it. How 
about this? Lark! Because free
whim got in to sing on shrill key.

For me? 
O, mi o my,
come off it, pal. 

That song was for all birds! 

Nobody's that special. Not unless 
the bird  
literally 

lands in your own open hand, 
and you're so wonderstruck 
by the chance you crush it. 

Figuratively, now there. The bird 

lives! Got away fine to a good
bush and snuck around in there
a bit, counting leaves by beak
and tail. But own up: not all songs

are yours 
"for you."

Take them at you, at 
best. Learn the words
that stick, 

and just say so.
"Tears aren't 
scary silly!" OK!
Sorry I cried?

Sure, why not. I hate to upset 
wannabe empaths. Those people
are some of my best peeps!