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Not settling for less
I wouldn't make a very good sacrifice
I could never pay off anyone's sins
When I've already offered myself to no avail
And can't even absolve my own.
My organs for research, my hair to stuff pillows,
My possessions to the babbling gypsy woman
To be bartered as magical artifacts,
My words to make them blink.
. . . My soul
For what purpose and to whose benefit?
Who would I redeem and
What in my death would I honor?
Make me a martyr the day I'm
Of any substantial worth whatsoever.
Don't let me dream of getting ahead of myself;
Stop me while I am giving
Any semblance of spiritual progress,
If even just holding my own.
Don't let me fall more behind
Unless it is to start over,
Don't let me submit to ties that bind
If they be not in the hands of a lover.
