I lied to you because the moment was right.
I said I would give you every bit and piece of myself, but the truth is,
I’m storing some in my soul just in case you get frusterated with the puzzle.
I’m sorry for being a wanderer. And a doubter. And a confused little child.
I mimick the road I see instead of the destination of glory.
It’s a habit I’m trying to break,
Along with all the other chains.
But I guess that’s my problem.
I take my problems into my own hands and try to stitch things together with a makeshift sewing mechine and clumsy fingers.
My clammy palms always cause me to slip up and nearly mess up the masterpiece…
I have learned to run back into my arms when the unknown is a bit of a jump.
I am the clay.
I need to learn to be still as I am being molded.