When the topic of conversation in class was about finding meaning in life
I struggled to find a reasoning behind why
I choose to keep fighting
the same **** voice that keeps on illuminating
the parts of my heart that don't need extra lighting
For reasons of staying safe
secure enough to keep from igniting
any other demons that make joy seem uninviting

My heart is tired of trying
to heal

My feelings boil over
like a *** of forgotten water
forcing me to clean up a mess that I did not ask for
I am tired
But still refuse to be fired from life itself

Why do I keep fighting
If my life is not something I admire

I have sisters who wage wars on their bodies too
trying to reach a place where they feel like they are somebody to some body
and not a disease
that strips them of all they were created to be
We are tired

Yet I ride waves of urges so familiar to the ocean of darkness that my heart rages
because I just want to feel free
because my future family and clients need me
because honesty is the key to living authentically
And if I'm being honest then I'm able to see
past the reality
that is my eating disorder

I desire more
which means that I am more
as my worth does not come from being the best me for others
but rather it comes from a deep understanding
that my life is my own and not my own
equally

Realizing that my hands are strong enough
are big enough to hold
even the pieces of my soul
that fail to fit the mold
of what is normal

But why can't normal have permission to be broken
Instead of whole

You tell me that it is wrong to look at myself the way that I do
Yet you, too, have your own toxic thoughts regarding you
You ask me if I've prayed about it and I say that I have
because prayer is the only thing that calms the voices in my head
And you are there for me when you want to be but not when I need you
Your spoken words and 'i love you's seem to pass right through
You ask me what you can do and I don't have the words to say
Again my broken record of a mind recalls what happened on the day
When I learned that my feelings have no value and that people never stay

Years of shame, a forgiving heart
Yet nothing can undo what was said to her

You are a worthless, undeserving child
You are
I am

Waiting is hard
Waiting for those words that I want to hear
Words that are worth more than a thousand pictures
More precious than a smile

I pray for his heart
For spring rains of grace to cleanse the darkest parts not yet shared with me
For endurance
For the pursuit of gaining so much more than a life together

I've been told that love is patient
I believe that, I do
I desire that patience
The stillness and peace that comes by releasing him to God
But is he releasing me?
That's what I wonder.

There is something about the sun
It's warmth, its light, its age
Always rises, always sets
Is always somewhere to be seen, near and afar
The way it lights the path to where one is to go
Sunsets touching the hearts of those both young and old
Warming the skin on a hot summer day
Sometimes hiding, sometimes blinding
But remaining constant in this crazy life

Two miles is what it took
to hear that still small voice.
Two more miles is what it took
to realise that she needed to listen rather than run.
In that four miles were over 8000 steps,
little and big,
hard and soft,
energising yet exhausting,

The day had been long,
her soul craved the lake air.
She retreated to a quiet place
hoping that she could get her mind to still.
She doubted that He would speak wisdom,
as she has been a stubborn girl.
But she tried so very hard,
to listen, that is,  
and when she stopped running to catch both her breath and mind,
she was smacked with the love that only a father can give.
A taste of the freedom that she once had,
yet craved even more deeply than before.

He showed her great things,
her Father did,
allowing her to reflect on the moments when he had been faithful.
He emphasised the journey,
rather than the destination.
After He was finished,
she stood still and wept.
Agape love,
it is hard to receive.
With her music silenced and her running feet stilled
she walked back to the starting line,
retracing her steps.
Only this time it was different.
This time she allowed her Father to hold her hand,
as she was reminded that she was not alone.
Is never alone.

Her frame exposed from the way her dress hugs her body
leads her to feel that oh too familiar feeling
of disgust, of judgment, of guilt, of shame.
This day only comes once a year,
yet she allows the demons to dwell in that pretty head of hers.
Unable to shake the thoughts of deceit
she continues to smile.
She dances.
She laughs.
She dances some more.
The ceiling spinning, the lights flashing, the floor moving
she begins to fall.
Her figure has been wasting away for a while now,
food being a foreign object to her frail self.
Had she been told that she was beautiful growing up,
had she been told that she was worthy,
had she been told that she was loved,
had she been told that she was wanted,
maybe things would be different.
Maybe.

People surround her as she lies on the floor.
They know.
They know her secrets.
Exposed and vulnerable she comes back to the surface,
surrounded by the ones who love her for her strength, her patience,
her resilience, and her friendship.

One night.
It was all she had wanted.
One night to feel beautiful.
One night to feel free.
One night to let her walls down and be.
What she failed to realise was that tonight gave her all of those things.
Exposed, she entered the next step of her journey to self discovery.
She began her journey to health and healing,
knowing that in the ugliness she is beautiful
and in the tears that flow she gains freedom,
and that her sisters in Christ see her as God see's her:
a unique, fragile piece of art.

The pattern remains the same,
doors slamming and shouts of shame
resound from inside her wild soul,
yearning for the cruise control.

The cries echo two blocks down
as he begins taking off her pink night gown.
Innocence lost at five years old
the memories are too strong to withhold.

New love comes yet the walls remain high
nights end with not one eye dry.
She prays that her innocence would be restored
as she falls on her knees and cries to the Lord

And he answered her cry,
"Child, you are precious in my eyes.
there is no need to apologise.
For you are pure and worthy in my sight,
I'm here to restore your wings for flight

A softened heart will get you through,
past all the pain that he caused you.
Then there will stand an open door
guiding you to the one who adores
your smile, your laugh, the songs that you sing,
the one who withholds no good thing.
Come, my child, come
you are my chosen one."

It happened.
The piece of glass held hostage in my heart has been shattered,
tiny shards leaving marks and scabs not yet formed.
A scale broken,
a heart now open to taste freedom.
The joy,
the relief,
the regret.
Morning comes and a chance to start over has arrived yet again.
Do I dare put that in my body?
Do I risk gaining what I do not wish to gain?
This battle in my mind continues to rage,
my decision not yet made.
Then I hear it.
A voice much greater than that of the lion roaring inside of me speaks,
the gentleness of his tone soothing to the mind of the little girl that is me.
"It's okay, my child. It's okay."
Another meal gone, another victory won,
another lion tamed.