remember when i reached for paper? this was why...

watch me bust at the seams
to offer you praise
and if my dance seems epileptic,
know my heart is full of grace,
full of grace.

my sparkles are gangley and gauche
cheap cheesy kitsch and unholy
but holy's your business -
it's you drawing breath from my lungs.

in this near particular, all I can give
is a song that will break all your crystal
will rise to the rafters and ruffle the wings of the owls.

and everyone watching cries
what a shame!
that such music should come from one
so overweight
that these notes make their way through
my messes of hair
or emerge from between these
crooked teeth.

they'll wonder in silence
because they are decent
enough not to announce it
in front of themselves
(let alone their neighbors):
how could He be quite pleased
how the Lord be satisfied
or the man with the microphone brazen to try

to ignore all our eyes
and the skin he stands in
thick in the way of the aria
fit for a king -

such contradiction
of praise and praiser

oh, we all have our highs
we all have our lows.
we carry our growths
on the sides of our faces
and maybe they know
and maybe they don't
but we all limp and shudder
we tramp and we hulk.

and the bones that aren't broken
they still quake like we're choking
the voice that we sing with
fits us like an epileptic.

but.you. look full on my face
bless the place where I stand
and draw one last note
out of my throat
to hold in your enormous hand.