I ask you, God, to never let me know
the dark side of myself again, like I once did.
Before I knew who You were God,
I didn't know who I was.
I didn't know what love meant.
Having everyone who ever said, "I love you"
leaving me, like a tornado leaves behind a building,
all of its metal more
jagged and sharply bent.

But I know, my God, Your beauty now
and I can discern why
I had to be so sharp,
so hard at heart.
Because had You given me
all the wonders I behold now,
I wouldn't have known
the first thing about
what to do with my part.
I wouldn't have searched the world so hard
for such a great love, I would have
stopped short in seeking Your heart.

You made me into a little girl
so terribly in need of a Savior.
And I searched
the whole world,
tasting this, trying that...
but never ending up
truly in love with the flavor.

My God, You loved me so much
Your only son died.
And I cried my eyes out
thinking,"Why did I
have to go through so much?"
My God, forgive me of my pride
and my misplaced anger. That just as
you held Jesus, while a spear pierced His side
I was never in any real danger.
You had already decided He would die
when He first lied upon the manager.
Just like I had decided I would
try and do anything
to feel anything
even if it was
**uncontrollable anger.

Only you can translate
where you are
on your voyage through
this varied farce
called “life”.

No one else can dictate
to you…
or should even dare…
how to phrase
your feelings,
your thoughts,
your personal moments.

Who is anyone to
cause another to feel
inept or inferior
for wording their
experiences as they will?

We are all both
audience and poet,
consumed by the
powerful spell of words
and meaning
we are bonded
in ink.

It takes gumption
and courage
to give voice to
your vision of
the world.

It often requires
resilience and nerve
to open your heart
and peel back the
layers of skin,
and let others take
a long look at the
inner workings of YOU.

Be brave,
take courage,
let your soul speak
in its very own
language.

People will read
your words and
listen to the sweet
whispers
and thunderous shouts
that flow from pens
and keys
to release the
inner demons and angels
and the lyrical
vines that bloom and live
in our individual
landscapes,

fluidly coursing from
our own rabbit holes
with fortitude and grace
and our neverlands,
where we need never
grow up,

to share with those
that need to see
and hear and feel
and wonder.


-by Mercurychyld
Copyrights

It doesn't feel great,
when I am greeted by nothing.
By silence.
Indifference...
Am I even here?

It doesn't feel great
thinking about all the times
I could have loved you
as fiercely and as longingly as
I do now,
but I chose hate instead.
I chose ugliness.
I chose to treat you not as a gift,
but as a burden.
Wow...
No, none of that feels great.
And though I know nothing can be changed.
Though I know I am not to live with regret
and shame.
It still hurts,
when you're the person I want to call
to share my happiness with
to share in the fruitful time I am walking through...
alone,
but I can't.

No...it doesn't feel great...