The inability to breathe,
Lacing my lungs,
A corset of worries,
Filling every minute.
The last dangling hope,
Dropping, smashing,
Pieces of a disco ball.
Are they even concerns,
If I cannot coherently
Think them?
Why do all the directions
Try to claim me?
His smile, his coldness,
Only earnest in private.
God, how do I let go
Of something tied
So deeply?
Stuck staring at a puzzle,
Knowing the pieces,
Yet unable to move them.
Stuck, gasping,
Trying to earn breath
As fast as you give it—
How many things am I
Keeping hold of?
What have I neglected
To surrender?
So many.
Naivety, on my part.
Selfishness on the other.
Forgive me, Lord.
Do as You will.

The light on the sewing machine left on,
Designs laid out, patterns discarded—
My fingers were hesitant
To let the fabric run through the needle.
I recalled the time it plummeted,
Toward my small, pink nail, the silence
And piercing pain that followed.
It was only the tip of my finger.
What would it feel like with long, rusted
Nails, pushed through my wrists?
Would I scream?
Would my torn vocal chords
Deafen the revolting crowds?
Or would I hang there, as Jesus did,
My heart full of love for those who
Condemned me, outweighing the burden
Of scathing sin, flowing like smoke
From the masses and pressuring
My frame until it suffocated?
“Forgive them,
For they do not know what they do.”
Lord, I could never have done
what you did.
That is why I need You.
And I always will.

The pages of my bible
Became water-stained,
Circles of heartache,
The tears Jesus wept,
Sinking into Truth.

The paper holds all
Of the blue emotion,
As if my Father
Were wiping my tears,
Overcome with love.