a hard poem to write

how did I become this person,
the one who said in so many ways
You don't make me happy,
even if I never uttered that exact phrase?

glaring in black and white -
the truth of what I am, what I've done, how I've felt,
and because I feel hurt, entitled, enraged,
I pick up my pen and start to make excuses

even amidst your hurt, you identify my hurt,
through a prophetic word picture from a week ago

a seed of trust
buried deep under the dirt
of disappointment, rejection, abuse, abandonment,
cut off from light and water,
never growing into what it was designed to be
though it has so much potential

and this image ticked me off
because
it. was. true.

I have been given a choice


with the words choice
I feel like I'm twelve again
screaming
crying
begging
fighting
for the right choice to be made

it terrifies me
to think that I could maybe do
what I swore I would never do

who would know better than me
that they need me
to make the right choice

this broken girl needs to break the cycle

help me, Jesus



joining with emily and imperfect prose