My Child 

“Okay, you’ve told me that you don’t need any help to get up. So tell me, why are you still laying down? Pick up your mat and walk with me. Do not decline my hand, it’s the only one that can pick you up out of this rubble. It may hurt when you sit up and your legs may be torn by the worn edges of the boulders that have been resting upon you. But do not let pain keep you from tasting freedom, my child. Get up, walk with me. If the hurt becomes overwhelming, let me carry you.” 

Jesus to me 

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Reminder ❤️

I do not need your love to love myself. 

I do not need your love to love myself. 

I do not need your love to love myself. 

I do not need your love to love myself. 

I do not need your love to love myself. 

Repeat daily. Remember always.

Half Past One

If you knew the thoughts floating in my head half past one, would you hand me a bible or would you hand me a gun?

Would you give up on me? Throw in the towel on my behalf? Tell me,

It’s unfixable.

Drown out all bellowing yells of victory and point and lead me to where darkness hides best–in myself. 

Or.

Or would you tell my frail heart to stop feeding me lies my spirit despises? 

Would you cradle my mind into your sacred arms and take me by the hand and walk with me?

 Even when it gets dark enough to hear evil howl, will you still walk with me? 

I beg of you,

Walk with me.

I Can Hear The Echo.

A touch,

A smile,

A glance.

All internalized into my little head.

It’s not like I’m desperate to hold you,

To be held by you.

But it’s cold in here and I’ve been here alone for quite some time.

I can’t call this love,

It isn’t even infatuation.

It’s pure attraction.

Your eyes and your hair that falls to your neck, sweeping past your ears.

I have a lot of time to stare and think but the more I look, the more I can’t breathe.

It’s the passion that’s enticing.

The moment where our eyes meet and I’m carried back to safety.

I’m safe in my house but,

I’ve been here alone for quite some time.

In The Middle 

when you’re in the middle,

not quite where you were running from but still miles away from the land you’ve heard about,

when you’re in the middle,

that’s when standing becomes a little harder and speaking can either work against you, or propel you forward. but more days than not, you take a seat and you say the words forbidden on your tongue,

and while you’re in the middle,

you dance with weariness as the skeletons around you drop one by one and you look down to see your own flesh raw and crying and begging to be cradled and cared for.

in the middle,
the pain of yesterday has healed to a slight bruise but sometimes you find yourself falling on knives you’ve planted yourself or picking at sharp edges that you know you shouldn’t be touching. 

in the middle,

you begin to understand that on those days that the blissful sun seems quite dimmer, the darkened clouds can still roar the name of the angels. 

in the middle, in that place between dirt and concrete,

walking through the muck is good, trudging through the muddy places will get you to the golden paved roads. 

in the middle, 

don’t ever let your heart give out, even when shouting at your limbs becomes routine and you swear you’ve heard death and darkness and frightening tales of failure beckon you to come… home.

in the middle, 

remind those demons that your home isn’t where it used to be.

in the middle,

keep it going. 

one day at a time.