White Horse
if I start to see you as a savior
Iām worried youāll start to see me
as a damaged damsel in distress
demanding delicacies in every diorama
of conflict caused by my too-careful conscience
quilting questions quietly in a quest
only to be seen and sought and savored
salaciously, sensually, saliently
when my focus ought to be
on me, myself, and I
on real-life dreams of flying high
on all the fruits decaying on my vine
all I want is a family thatās mine
still I canāt seem to toe the lines
still I struggle with goodbyes
until the hurtful insults fly
crazy, obsessive, damaged and wry
Iāve never been able to pin down why
I know I drive them all mad
but Iām struggling to do life
asking for help
finding none to suffice
could it really all come down to my mind?
Iām the problem
Iām the one thatās blind
I do want a white horse to ride to my side
a confident cowboy sitting up high
Iāve always craved saving
I donāt want more goodbyes
Iāll try
Iāll pray
Iāll stay
Iāll cry
Iāll write all the thoughts out
until theyāre no longer mine
Iāll paint him the villain
Iāll bargain with fate
Iāll plead and Iāll scream
my soul, Iāll berate
at the end of the day,
thereāll be nothing on my plate
or maybe, just maybe,
I might get it straight
I might fly right
I might tempt my dream date
without being a tempest
without destroying whatās great
I might need saving
but Iāll do it myself
if youāll stick around while I peruse the shelf
while I pluck out the plank
that has plagued my dear faith
find communion with Me
and youāll heal this deep ache














