There is never enough of me
THough it is you who does not know the length of an hour
or four
or forty
as I sit with heavy heart and hurting hands
you will never see my effort
But oh, you will notice when I fail.

I cry out for you
though it is I who works
rocking myself to sleep.
It is my mind burning
Seared with my thoughts
Welded into my hymn
tearing each note from the page.

Are you entitled to judge?
Or better, is there no way for you to help me
believe a lie when I know the truth?
That I will never be enough
That I am forever imperfect
My music broken.

I have traded peace for your lips
Confidence for your eyes
and my song, for your black heart.