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My heart is tired. 
It tells me so daily. 
Tired of blood in blood out, tired of alive. 
Mid night my hands are restless. 
Searching, fruitless, through darkness for purpose. 
Where is it? 

Nothing good comes from Nazareth. 

I remember bare feet, callous keeping me from Earth cold and earth wet. 
Headlights look star bright if you squint hard enough. 
I remember warm hands on pressure points and hands ten feet tall. 
A white flag on earth stands victoriously in the realm. 
I remember FDA warnings. 
Nothing is as assured coming up as it was going down. 
I remember hot tears and surrender. 
I’ll take a blow to my hip if it means surviving this. 

Nothing good comes from Nazareth. 

If this life is all I have, let my hurt yield to beauty. 
Let the curdles of this spoiled heart change the world in every slow, begrudging beat. 
Let every restless, lonely night be multipled if it means one less for her. 
Let every battle ridden, bloodied day survived equal a trophy for him.
I remember sharp cliffs and the prophesying waves below. 
The desire to emerge and descend before your next breath. 

Nothing good comes from Nazareth. 

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