St. Anthony

Some days I mistake the voice of God for my gut

The divine feminine for chords I've yet to cut

And when I put up my rose I often still feel stuck

Believe I'm not enough cause of all the things that I've fucked up

Some days I just stay home consumed by grief

The kind of weeping that brings you to your knees

And I think to that kid in her Catholic school seat

And I wanna hug her and tell her it doesn't get easy

But you learn how to breathe

And I wanna walk with Mary