She never claimed
To be an angel
God knows she sure ain’t
She’s been told her touch
Feels almost like heaven
But she knows
It can be a ragged edge
Straight to hell
Some just can’t handle
What she has to give
She’s been called an angel
In that case, she’s flying a little way too close to the ground
She’s also been called a hell raiser, trouble maker, no-good, from the trashy side of town
That should be damned
But she doesn’t care
It’s not for anyone else to know or to judge
Or to ask Jesus, “Why?”
Who she is or how she’s lived
She wears a broken halo
Looking for another soul to save
She’ll whisper words as she moves her body closer
Taking her time to make it right
She’ll create a little place where a soul can feel safe
And if that makes her an angel or a magician
It’s all the same to her
She never claimed to be one or the other
Only to love the work she does
Finding another body to touch
And a soul to save
Another dance and another place
She won’t fold back her wings
She still flies
She still has sequins and glitter
On that broken halo
Which she places on the heads
Of every angel that comes in
They are all souls waiting to be saved
Just like she is.
Jeanna’ Mead
6 32 a.m. 11.4.19
Twelve. 👣♥️
Jeanna' Soul 
Leave a comment