Tag Archives: Pain

Broken

How many years I’ve carried this body,
And how long its carried me-
An intrinsic facet of my existence
And my identity.

How its struggled from the womb
Targeted while tender,
A bullseye-birthmark stained through systems-
And genes- and gender.

How long pain has walked in stride,
Fingers clasped in mine,
Wracked from earliest childhood,
Constant yet, through time,

Wrecked still, the crawling pain
Shudders my skin awake,
While the cold chill grasping
Does not alleviate my ache.

Bedfellows we’ve been
Thirty-eight years to strive-
One day we both shall die,
But after, only I will come alive!


Oh Me Of Little Faith

Tethered to these moments
Slipping in, slipping out,
Rocking forward and back
Along the way here:
To the place of my doubt;
To the place of my fear.

All my short days
In long years tossed
By grief, by illness,
By importunate pain,
And is it counted loss,
Or counted as gain?

Pulled from the softness
Of my welcoming bed
By a body in revolt,
A body ill at rest:
Lifting my weary head
To rehearse the confessed.

Always disturbed
By an unshakable feeling
In any moment
Scales may fall from my eyes,
And I will see I’ve been reeling,
Laboring under lies.

Calling You by names
You are not
Doubting the names
You are.
You’re the only reason
I got this far.

My brokenness
Is paralyzing-
My brokenness
Compels me on-
Mold these mistakes,
So terrorizing,
Into something held
And smiled upon.

From fire and ice
I was formed.
Burned by both-
Frozen still and raging wild,
Let me be again
Transformed.
Let me be
Your simple child.


Fissure King

It stained everything
In the days I was shaken
Seeping from cracks
Ripped through the foundation.

Broken, I became
All ink stain and rubble.
Who pained to look on me
Invited trouble.

Days and distance
Stilled the quake
I still awake at night
Prone to shake

In the wake of the devastation
I have tasted:
The flesh and folly
Quaking wasted.

Who I am
Forever stained
Along the fissures
Carved like veins

By a mighty hand
I could not see,
Guiding these cracks
That had to be

But in the deepest chasm
Of fractured despair,
I found one small flower
Blooming fair

A fragile, fragrant blossom,
Unfamiliar to my sight,
And it’s nectar held the power
To put every fracture right.

I did not have it in me
To shut up the chasm deep,
To force the little flower
Into impotence and sleep.

So I live along these fault lines,
This open, aching earth,
So I can ever reach the little bloom
That grants broken dust rebirth.

There is a great compassion
Built into my design;
I am the gaping fissure,
But the flower, too, is mine.


Broken In

Exquisite pain,
Like sharp stones
Cutting into the surface of calm
Sending ripples on alone
To wake the rest.

Molten rock,
Melting joints while
Muscles smolder, sweat, and turn
Pooling in a vile
Puddle of suffering.

Pain in the depths,
The dark bowels of fleshly frame;
Ligament and bone,
Blood and tissue, pain
As the new normal.