A single cell amoeba in the petri dish of life

You are the stone in my shoe, feeding the blister on my soul You are the label on my skin, itching, annoying, aggravating. You are the stubborn oil stain on my shirt, apparently vanish proof, You are the cold wind on a wet day, as if rain wasn’t bad enough. You are the splinter beneath my skin, refusing to move You are the storm damaged house, the hole in my roof You are my rheumatoid joints, two steel leviathans scraping together. You are the devil on my back, the lumber puncture I don’t need. You are my stale last slice, and cold cup of tea, You are the fly in my soup, the shark in my stew

and yet,

You are the air all around me, soothing my lungs Without you, I am a single cell amoeba in a Petri dish awaiting the alcohol swab and oblivion . You are my soul sister, my terra firma, my flame haired Aphrodite. I would crumble, without your forgiving touch upon me. You pull me from the vast void of my self-erected desolation, You place me in a cocoon of warm water, and soft fluffy bath robe. You tell me everything is all right and I believe you.

I always will.