He Doesn't Tale Like You
I used to sit and listen to you tell fables. As my young ears soaked in your tendencies. Smiled like Bozo as you made memories before they were even there. Just to doubt my mind as I remembered what never was. Yet I believed every dream you placed in my weak bed. Only to awake on the floor reaching for things to exist. And I believed you. Because you were all knowing, To a small human that trusted your arms to never let me fall. But to lay me down gently. Maybe that's why I tend to doubt God. I've been bruised. Then again. Maybe that's why I shouldn't.