viewingcamelot

I feel like you wanted me to stay here;
I hope there’s freedom to leave.
But I want what You want
Even if it causes me to grieve,

To live in the wound I cannot heal.

Help me lay down my life
In the way You desire
And not destroy what remains
In my own foreign fire,

Be bigger than the boogeymen.

I never want to go through
That kind of pain again,
The corporate rejection and mockery
But if such tender humiliation

Speaks You, lead me.

If it is unnecessary,
Help me shake the dust off my feet.

I trace these letters
Sewn together
Like tiny constellations
Of ache

I break, but linger,
Longing fills the cracks.
I inhabit empty dimensions.
I can’t find my way back.

My friends became handless
As the ground disappeared
Acquaintances knew no kindness;
Those in authority jeered.

And the wounds I received
Still slowly bleed out,
And the nerves that got severed
Bring numbness in bouts.

I search for some hidden cleft
Where the pirates can’t go
Where, if their wounds end in my death,
They will never get to know,

Where I won’t see them on the hill,
Or their flag at constant mast
Where I may forget names and faces
And the love they cast

Into the cold water.

It’s no different than RealityTV.
They know the plot;
They don’t know me.

If they’ve bonded over episodes
In love with shared feeling,
Using my bricks to pave their roads

That has nothing to do with me.

And using those reactions
To feel good together
Without ever moving to action

Is no different than monsters.

It’s the same thing.

Last night he kissed me
Like he cared
He ran his hands
Along my skin
I felt a full cacophony
In storm
For being touched
By him again.

I went to bed alone
Intact, in guilt
Feeling it was almost sin
To hold out or give in.

This morning she heard
The good news
She ran first to share
With him,
Then to tell her sister,
Then to shower
And the value I don’t have
Settled in

I cannot unbuild
The house we built with time
I cannot diagnose
How it all begins
He doesn’t do anything now
Deserving of treachery
I am dependant. I am grateful.
I am trapped within,

Caught in the spin.

Father, forgive me.
How quickly I complain,
But look at all You’ve done.
Your mercies remain.
You’ve moved in grace
Providing for me
In ways I couldn’t
Ask or think.
Help me to please You,
Don’t allow my praise
To become odious to You
For the length of my days.
I’ll get distracted and forget.
Give me what I need, when I need,
To let You reign in my life;
Enable me to follow Your lead.
Help me see. When You speak
Help me hear it.
Finish what You began.
Hold on to my spirit.

I belong to no one else
But You.

I’ll never escape the butchers’ shop.

I walked in one side,
Whole and alive,
In all the honest mess of me.

I trusted every goad that led
I nuzzled every hand that fed
In good faith I confessed to be

All I’ve been, all that was true,
I left no part hidden from view
But on the other side I couldn’t see

I succumbed to butchery.

Trapped and wrapped in dishonest packaging;
Just another product of merchantry.

Product never sees it coming.

I remember saying way back when
That it was hard to believe
Anything could ever feel good again.
As I pass through this grief

That hasn’t ceased
To look true.

I recognize moments, and people,
That would have brought me deep delight
Whose smiles would once keep me full
Of buoyant joy, the precious sight

I inhabited
In gratitude.

But now I watch their full ascent
From behind myself, over my own shoulder,
I acknowledge what they would have meant,
But I’m not there; I’m somewhere colder

Trapped in the stasis
Of nowhere else to go,
No other way to be.

And no soul without, nor within,
May ever again know me

Because who I’ve been
Is no longer here to see.

All these heaps of words
As I try to purge
Every passing desire and reaction
Verbalizing tangents and distractions
In a mad dash

To diagnose and excise

The cause of my necrosis.

I don’t remember me.
I try to imagine myself,
But she slips farther away,
She changes her face.
I don’t remember

Who I was…
What I loved…

Was I pleasant?
Quiet?

Loud?
Irritating?

Some people liked being around me.

Others couldn’t stand me.

What was I like to talk to?
Was I kind?

What did I hope for?
What made me laugh?

Do I have a baseline
Hidden somewhere

Or am I all washed out to sea?

When the moment came,
No one cared what happened to me.

I think that’s what killed me.

Joy comes in the morning.
I believe You; I’ll say once more.
In spite of the calluses forming
But I can’t be sure
When comes the morning.