My heart ****** my rib cage every time I’m pulled back down to the road,
I want to move past this hill but my path won’t go.
I’m afraid I’ve become complacent in this frame that’s not my own.
The Lord knows I’m as impatient as they come,
I will try to refrain from believing in my bones.
Fill me to the brim, and I know I’ll overflow.
Take over the faults that have always reaped anything I’ve sewn.
You’ve set the morning over every high and low.
All I want is to go home, but I don’t know where that is.
None of these beds feel right, nothing seems to fit in.
Nothing shines quite like gold should.
Maybe I wasn’t ever made to fit this mold.
Maybe I misunderstood.

Sometimes I wonder if these hands are too weak to embrace the ones I love most.
Sometimes I wonder if these hands are too contracted to unclasp and let go.

Sometimes I wonder if these hands are too heavy for anyone to hold.

Oh, how heavy these palms are.

I offer these to you with hopes that I’ll be able to deny myself,

You pry my fingers apart as you put my past on the shelf,

And I feel the grace between my nails calming my hands back into my lap. 

I get so tired doing such a simple task.

All I am and all I have to bring - though I don’t know what that might be - I give to You my everything. 


How I just want you to use these hands.

How I just want you to hold them.