Scattered bites of joy in the face of abject suffering
Prying kindness off forked tongues
(Must I wrest my happy from the jaws of monsters?)
Satiating bloodlust of the drunken masses
(If I relish this small joy I found, will it land like salt on your unhealed wounds?)
Don’t look to me to ease your sorrow
If I cannot save the burning city, then I shall glory, unapologetically, in its dazzling demise
I think one of the hardest things is to climb inside of your own pain and be okay. To accept it finally so that it no longer has so much power over you. It almost feels like climbing into bed with the enemy. You want to remain mad at society, at your culture, at your parents, your pastor, at God. We’d rather lash out and seek vengeance on what hurt us. But the only way to be free is to climb inside your own pain and forgive them all.
I sharpen my teeth on all the words I keep from you,
rolling them to and fro in my mouth,
tasting every nuance,
so that even if they do escape
they are smooth as glossy pearls.
I cut my tongue when they gallop up my throat
demanding to be released
and I’ve no choice but to choke them back,
slicing my throat to ribbons on their descent, on every jagged crest and
But even in their wake,
I still bleed silver.
Forgive me for worshipping
at the altar of your
Forgive me, for I have
against my very self
in carving myself
like a sacrifice, willing
my spilled blood to speak
the words that were
for a mere human
But your lofty ideals were
Uncaring if the tears
that were spilled
led to redemption
And so, I plead with you
to forgive me
for taking too long to
You found me when I was broken,
sharp protruding bits and
Running your fingers down my
you watched, mesmerized,
as the blood pooled in the crevices
of your skin.
Attracted to the danger, you soon
to the pain.
You loved the way the light
refracted against the
shattered glass of
and so you endeavored
to break it again
The abyss calls forth her song
of seduction—luring the wary and unsuspecting
as they fall headlong into her depths. Sweeter
than a siren’s song, the edge beckons softly
with the crook of a finger and a come-hither
smile. Unable to resist, they succumb
one by one. Toy soldiers heading into battle
armed with plastic for bullets. The rare one
makes his way out of the darkness—broken,
bleeding, but with light like fire in his eyes.
Talking about cracks that let the light in and
pain that is healing.
Sometimes God places us in tumultuous waters not to punish us, but to push us forward into a better place where we wouldn’t have ventured ourselves due to being complacent with the status quo.
Continue reading “Suffering as a Christian”
We collect scars like trophies,
Running our fingers down each shiny surface
As the dust of years dissipates with each stroke
And pain, like the grandest of glittering diamonds draped around our neck
Each memory a sharp-edged facet cutting deep within its cold embrace
While the finest cloak of purple–so carefully draped around our body
Is knit of wounds and bruises too slow to heal in time
And yet so regally we stand
Gazing silently upon the carnage wrought throughout the years
As echoing within we hear a whispering refrain
Who set me to rule
over this desert land?
To wrestle with God
is to prevail in the face of adversity.
It’s to have hope when there is none.
To keep striding forward
when all you want to do is lay your weary soul to rest.
To wrestle with God
is to battle your very self
A silent companion
Whose sole purpose is to shred you to pieces
Over the smallest thing.