The Nature of Pain

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.

Once Upon a Silver Tongue

I sharpen my teeth on all the words I keep from you,
rolling them to and fro in my mouth,
tasting every nuance,
every cadence,
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
uneven curve.
But even in their wake,
for you
I still bleed silver.

 

Mea Culpa

Forgive me for worshipping
at the altar of your
indifference.

Forgive me, for I have
sinned
against my very self
in carving myself
before you

like a sacrifice, willing
my spilled blood to speak
the words that were
too deep

for a mere human
tongue to
utter.

But your lofty ideals were
nothing more
than
stone gods,

weren’t they?

Uncaring if the tears
that were spilled
behind closed
doors

led to redemption
or
ruin.

And so, I plead with you
to forgive me

for taking too long to
realize

that

I have

sinned.

Addicted

You found me when I was broken,
sharp protruding bits and
serrated edges.
Running your fingers down my
soul,
you watched, mesmerized,
as the blood pooled in the crevices
of your skin.
Attracted to the danger, you soon
became addicted
to the pain.
You loved the way the light
refracted against the
shattered glass of
my heart,
and so you endeavored
to break it again
and again.

Pain Like a Lover

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.

Suffering as a Christian

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”

Scars

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?