I try to hide the insomniac craze
with a smile and friendly gesture.
Lest anyone see my gaping wound
and how badly it's been festered
But brokenness seeps through
The crippling fear of my exposure
as a wounded soul who seems
to be incapable of closure.

Questions plague my mind..
Why do I feel so wretched?
Why am I so overwhelmed
by the need to feel accepted?
What makes me so fearful?
Death is only a part of life.
I've known from an early age
That one day I would surely die.

No doubt I've lived recklessly,
That's the beauty of forgiveness.
So why is it so hard for me
To accept when I'm forgiven?

Who am I to say it's over?
Who am I to say I can't?
Who am I to say it's impossible?
God has given a second chance.

Who am I to say I'll never
see the sun begin to rise?
When I saw the break of dawn
crack the sky so many times.

Maybe nothing is impossible.
And maybe one day I will see
that all of this will change
by changing how I look at me.