Broken Halos

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. 👣♥️

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