Imperfect. Beautiful. Part of, in Jehovah's eyes

       A sparse turn holds one tiny spark.
Craving just a bit of love to dance
with. Oh how I carry a cynical piece
of laughter.

       Just once I want to be number
one to someone. I just want someone
to care for me. Not for me to pick
up all the pieces. I don't want  to be the
creative artist to decorate any new
truth, relationships. I want to be the
one who gets to lean upon someone.

     Oh how the tears streak down
pale freckled cheeks. The release so
necessary.  Indeed the distances I go
to extend my hand. Why do I always
need to help, to forget I am human too?

     Alas not be a reminder but that of
the helper. Always forgetting about
who I am. Still a roll of heated sighs
evaporate.

    Steam fumes over my
misunderstanding of what,  who I am.
Imperfect.  Flawed.

    Yet I am beautiful.  A unique woman.
Still I am ignored in the smallest
efforts. Though I am "friend" to all.

   Yet how? When do I become more?
An importance?

   Alas time will reveal. I will be persistent
in being the caring,  loving and helpful
one.  Not paying attention to the
flattering compliments.

    Oh I am almost too humble. Not
seeing my worth but in caring, giving.
Indeed that must be the role, the part
of who where I stand in Jehovah's
organization. 

   Thanks to Jehovah for finding me
that place. That one part in your eyes.