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Can grace be birthed?

I live in the brokenness,
I live in the mystery.
I live in imperfection,
I am human: that’s me.

So, why did I continue to wear
The yoke of slavery?
Continue again and again to tear,
Myself down when You tried to love me?

Only with humility,
Can I accept Your love,
Only with Your sovereignty,
Can grace be birthed; free your dove!
Lent is the practice of sacrifice (going without) and remembrance. This year, I am giving up chocolate and will try to write a poem in my new “Lent Collection” each day. Enjoy!
The sky was mottled paper,
Littered with the tear stains
Of stars.

I sat in a field of feathers,
Made from loved quills
And promises.

When I said fly me to the
Moon, I meant take me there
With your words.
  Mar 29 South-by-Southwest
Asuka
The sadness falls in sheets of rain—
I long for an umbrella of love.
You are the Atlantic, lost in tides,
I am the Pacific, distant above.

Two waters that will never meet,
divided by fate, by silent war.
Loneliness hums in flickering streetlights,
shadows stretch, but mine is no more.

The mirror mocks with a cruel smile,
a stranger wears my skin and eyes.
If self-love is an illusion,
why can’t I stop despising mine?

My world, once golden, now Atlantis,
drowning beneath a memory.
The pillars that held my past and pain,
once strong with love, now start to break.

And as the cracks run deep and wide,
they show the truth I failed to see—
the ones I cherished, swore were mine,
were only ghosts disguised as peace.

El Dorado gleamed on the horizon,
but it’s farther than the stars abide.
Betrayal shattered like porcelain glass,
a wound too deep for love to hide.

Yet even ruin learns to harden—
one day, I will return the favor in steel.
  Mar 29 South-by-Southwest
Maria
The night fell down with a silk sheet.
The city sleeps.
The night is walking silently
Through concrete heaps.

She treads regally, barely touching
The dark stones.
The night has come, smiling lordly,
Into the throne.

The night's happy. It's to her liking
People's dreams.
They're sacred. All men in them
Are almost saints.

Well now, the night rejoices and rules!
It's her time!
She scatters the stars and the moon in the sky
To sublime.  

The night put out all lanterns
In city's streets.
The city sleeps quietly and soundly
Without all feats.
Night is the real queen! She has her own rules and laws. I bow to the Night!
Thank you very much for reading this poem! 💖
A cuddle cat thinks she’s soft and kind.
But eating alone in quiet loss, not drinking tender bliss
immersed in sharp sounds, her fur is raised.

The time is not flowing, the time is slowly drowning.
Big eyes disoriented, needing mutation
in epileptic convulsions, knowing
that the weak animals might be consumed.

Dressed in costumes, movements of grace,
gestures she studied with caution, acting out the play.

Now she seems to be a Black Panther
the secret is kept, nobody sees her.
Every role comes at a cost.

Like a pit spit out, the flesh devoured,
no sweetness remains, only the hardened shells.
Welcome invisibility! She’s not prey anymore.

The last totem is her salvation.
The deep-sea-clam, she feels so safe  
bathed by the shape of cold water.
Snap back to reality,
Snapping out of it
Breath in
Breath out
You're not alone with it
Let's conquer
Let's wake up
Let's become
Present again,
I know we're capable,
I will support you till the very end.

I love you.
Learning to snap out of a trigger, again and again and again until it sticks and it's a smooth process. Supporting myself day and night.
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