this is the climb

and when i want to give up,

i think of where i want to be.

i visualize victory and joy and peace

and

take a breath.

i want to be better.

i want more than this.

so i continue to amad,

and stand firm and still.

i’m not giving up this time,

no, not until i see the finish line.

 

 

Mama Said 

she told me to “let it out,”

“it’s okay to cry,” she adds.

all these years, i held it in.

all of it.

a great big ocean swam inside my eyes,

churned and spun in my stomach,

mixing with ugly truth and resentment.

so i let it out.

and it was ugly at first.

my sobs took over my body,

turbulent 

and 

true.

but then,

it was beautiful.

now i understand why a rainbow paints the sky after a dreadful storm.

a smile crept up on me and the pain floated                a w a y.

Unbelievable

unbelievable

how much i have changed.

my covers are clean and sparkle

under the bright lights shining down on me.

and i smile when i go off to sleep

because i know in the morning who i will meet,

so i grab hold of life and air

and roll off the bed with effortless grace.

so much grace,

draped down on me but held light and tender on my shoulders.

what was dirty

and mucky

and horrible

and stunk,

is now white as snow.

white as snow.

nowhere to hide because daybreak is no longer a curtain

and there is no theater or seats or dreadful laughter.

night is light and no longer is there a struggle with

hands to my throat

and grave whispers in my ear.

it is unbelievable

how i have changed,

those voices have come to adore me.

 

 

My God

My God.

You have seen this flesh through.

When it consumed me,

When it bled alongside you on the cross,

In your arms, I was wrapped,

Tucked away until I was complete,

And plucked from the edge of

Death.

I almost plummeted but,

You gave me wings,

So now I soar and I’m whole,

And it’s just because of you,

My God.

The Runaway Clay

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. 

But,

I am the clay.

I need to learn to be still as I am being molded.