Someone told me scars are beautiful too

I prayed to baby jesus in that
sarcastic I really don't believe in you voice
a high pitched childlike faith-filled
sound I hardly recognize as it comes out
of my newly cut throat.
I ask for good doctor news in exchange
for gifts to a charity I later discover
is a christian right gay bashing hate machine
So I edit my plea just so
but I repeat my request for health.
And I do. not. mean. it.

Today I learned of a woman
curled up on a red couch, moving her hand
on white fur, whispering,
do you want me to end your fatigue in this life?
If you are finished with me walking you
and feeding you, and if you don't want to
hurt on those stairs up and down one more time,
I will take you to the nice doctor
and I will let you go.
And she does. not. mean. it.

Today I said I am okay and this is good news
I will pray to baby jesus more often,
I will even break out the big guns and
ask the heavenly father himself.
I said no that didn't really hurt,
I can drive just fine
I am happy to have the house all to myself.

And I start to wonder
when was the last time any of us
said something. we. actually. meant.