Years, listening to your lies and
writing sad odes, sorry metaphors about worthlessness,
all the reasons, various, numerous, for my loneliness,
figure flawed, wits wanting, a person less than perfect,
me, cast in the role of defective, undesirable.
I believed you.

This morning, you’re at it again,
telling me I can’t have this, the sum of my hopes:
a mountain too tall and I, too small, can’t overcome it.
a feat too mighty, and I, too weak, can’t accomplish it
a vision so beautiful, and I, so ugly, can’t attain it.
In all of this, you’re right.

Or would be, if I wasn’t part of a Whole
who’s height can’t be measured,
who’s mightiness surpasses strength,
who’s beauty a sunrise can’t match.
All this and more is mine in Him
so I stand, therefore,
to tell you I will drink none of your poison today,
to say sorry, sir,
the sum of my hopes cannot be shaken
by the sum of the fears you fling in my face.