Grip

 Written on March 20th, 2010

Hurt
Brokeness all around
I cannot swim any longer with the glass that punctures my wounds
Anger. Why? Awkwardness. Always.
I run far far away and yet remain immobile
Take these shattered dreams that lie in my hands
I raise them up to You
Black tears streaming
My face pleading
Hoping for a world I once knew
Stillness grips my soul as I wait
Nothing comes for me
I rage
Tearing, screaming, gnashing, clinging
Tattered and broken I fall
Self-fulfilling prophecy and sabotage push me down
Darkness fills my chest
Is this how it ends?
Eyes peer down
Matted hair and weakened lifelessness sit stagnant
“Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, the wretched refuse of your teeming shore.”
And so, I lift my head
The hand in front of me I take as my worn body fights to move
You pull me close
Your heartbeat near
The shards of glass melt away
And for a moment I am safe
From the glass that punctures my wounds

Today, I needed to write. It’s just one of those days. I had The Message open to no particular page underneath the notepad I was writing on. When I finished writing, I moved my notepad and looked down and this is what it said:

“If I am sleepless at midnight,
I spend the hours in grateful reflection.
Because you’ve always stood up for me,
I’m free to run and play.
I hold on to you for dear life,
And you hold me steady as a post.”  -Psalm 63:6-8