Dear God, To Myself, From Myself

Now I lay me down to sleep

I pray the Lord my soul to keep

If I should die before I wake

I pray

 

That she found a friend in me

That she felt the unconditional love I've felt for her, but was always too afraid, and too proud to show

In a generation with minds so misconstrued

That woman to woman love made you either gay or a creep

 

That no hurtful word I said to her dismay made it to the tucked away spaces of her heart 

That my indignant ways of communication were received in no other way but in love

 

That every note she plays

Every string that she strums

Every stroke against Alejandro

With index finger and thumb pressed firmly against the plectrum used to pluck out various chord progressions

Be blessed all the days of her life

 

That every birthday, every event, every ridiculous little thing that she ponders

Be celebrated 

No matter how small no matter how large, no matter how insignificant it may seem

That the large warm hands connected to strong arms and even broader shoulders 

Meant to hold a shelf, worthy of only few great bodies, stay that way

That the warmth that seems to exude from her core, stay that way

That the life and joy and over cumbersome happiness wrapped in her voice, stay that way

 

Angel on earth she is

As bull headed, mulish, truculent, sweet, innocent, perky, and amazing as she is

 

The prefect imperfection

-Kennedie King