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Nuggets 6h
This world has broken me.
My heart has shattered,
Thrown down by
Neglect.
My soul has become
Ash,
Burned by the lies.

My empty shell now searches for life;
Someone who can piece together the
Shards
That cut when people get too close.
Ashes,
that sting
When blown the wrong way.
Who can erase scars
That everyone avoids,
Like they believe I’d given them to myself,
(Even if some I did)
And I’ll do the same to them.

But then again,
Who wants ugly?
Especially when
Thousands
Shine brighter.

So why?
Might I ask,
Would you choose the burden of holding me together,
Your light warding off
The pain
Scars leave behind.
Your gentle nature
Repairing the shards that are
My heart.
And though no one can unburn
What now floats away,
You gave me a soul-
One that only longs
For You.
(Hallelujah, is now the song I sing.)
stumbling into the main hall
in my stained hospital gown,
my feet covered by those socks
with the grips, my ******* swollen

beyond measure, rock hard for lack
of expression. Eyes that saw me
but didn't question me. My growing
panic when I missed turning in

yet another food option card. Three
missed meals when my body needed
the nourishment more than ever.

The pills they prescribed to placate.
The kindly old man, his lip tremors
and teeth stained yellow, who freely
extended his friendship, who called me comrade. My exhaustion,

my deprivation of sleep and food. Of my right mind. The way I laid my head on the lunch table, asking my new friend if he could watch over me

as I slept, nightmares and demons
finally staved for some indeterminate
amount of time. How everyone there
let me call my mom over and over again, on the precious shared

hall phone. The way I was starved, thinking I would die there. The little card I drew, artwork at its finest, not knowing what reality was anymore.

How I recalled my own father being in a similar mental institution after his own suicide attempt. How he was saved. How I was.
I come from the cracked sidewalks of Chi-town, stoops
where we sat baking in blistering sun, listening
for the bells of the bicycles, so bold & eager for change
we could plop on the counter of the corner store.

In the constant drone of the deli, Italian grandpas
convened in their drab plaid, pressed khakis — coursing
the quiet confidence that comes from living that life
in the fast lane, simmering to a peace that permeates
each measured step. The bowls of minestrone soup
to warm their old bones: dead dreams reigniting.

I come from the family that never had anything
to own — but still didn’t allow me to go hungry.
I come from a steaming plate of sizzling
homemade dumplings, each juicy morsel
containing a mother’s fierce love for family.

I come from a long line of trauma responses
and the healing that only comes from truly creating.
I come from a great-grandmother, a grandmother,
a mother that poured out even when the jagged pieces
cut up our throats coming up. I come from having

lost my entire mind, frenzied forces pushing
my body up against a cold psych wall, no escape
in sight for me. I come from the guilt I'd held
for far too long, for missing the entire first
month of my daughter's life on this earth
when I couldn't even take care of myself.

Somewhere in the midst of coming to the end
of myself, I found You. You had never left.
I came home, battered and so broken, and You
enveloped me in Your healing Light. Selah.  



I’m walking in restoration, deep restoration,
a coursing river engorged with living water.
I finally allow myself to be fully immersed
in the wellspring that never runs dry. And there, fully
surrendered in the depths, I find that I can finally breathe.
hi, it's been a while. It's melody :] I feel led to start up Hello Poetry again. God bless you.
In Maranatha faith and hope
Are more matur'd than in the Pope.

She sings for Jesus Christ and joy,
And doth the Devil's ears annoy.

Her goodness, purity, patience, peace,
And lovingkindness never cease.

She's sav'd by grace but works good works;
And in her heart no evil lurks.

She turns me down for that is she
A slave to love and liberty.
All you nations, praise the Lord!
Praise the Lord with one accord!
Everybody everywhere,
Praise the Lord with your hands in the air!
Praise the Lord who's been so kind
And merciful to the lame and the blind!
The truth, who's Christ, forever endures!
Praise Him!  Praise the Lord!
Lord Jesus Christ
His love knows no end
With love and kindness displayed
His light brings us cheer
Through each doubt and fear
And Lord Jesus Christ we
Hold you in our hearts so dearly
And in his grace we are gently swayed.
Given a choice between a Jewish thief Barabbas and Lord Jesus Christ a holy man
The Jewish community chose the thief
Barabbas and crucified the our Lord.
In surrendering,  
Light breaks through the shadowed veil,  
Victory in grace.
Kyla Jun 16
till the instant I sleep,
from the moment I waken
my God, oh my God
I feel so forsaken
Ellen Joyce Jun 2013
Ten thousand nights have laid themselves down before me
and I have played the princess in the tower oh so well.
The perfect aryan child tucked up behind veils of delusional dream,
to sleep to wander into places where damsels save themselves.
And in such splendor the masks do fall like autumn leaves,
crisp and changed - each fallen and forgotten under foot.
But hair grew much too fast beneath garments as mole hills became mountains
and irony of ironies I caught my goldie locks in a leaf covered bear trap-
ensnared in biting pain I did wait for my knight and trusty steed -
but my prince was the villain; a scenario I was unprepared for
lost in delusion while he mawled my once ivory skin,
till it bled; my blood irreparably tarnished by his seed.
And the nights kept falling one by one,
slowly to their knees or else dying a savage death by blade or flame -
and for my part I have lived them.
Unprepared for such madness, armed only with fairytales
I have fought a battle I never could win.
And the people came. I let them in, wove threads of trust, only
to taste the milk of human kindness and choke on its bitterness.
And so I shrank from the world like the tortoise to its shell
and I climbed my tower, bolted the door - I cut my hair short.
So I sit by a tiny window with animal-kind to kiss my scars.
People grab at me but I am out of reach and there I shall stay
some day the Prince shall come and from now on I will trust only in Him.
Written 2010
I don’t have many words today, as the day’s work has worn me down. Instead, I possess a quiet but firm resolve. Softly, under my breath, I whisper “Jesus,” and for now, this is enough...

-Rhia Clay
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