Mistake

So many panics, so many floods

Guilt and remorse, what-ifs and blood.

Should we have… could we have… why didn’t we…? The replay runs.

..wishing terribly that dark rust-red color was mud, only mud.

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Praise

I am good for nothing else

Riddled with agony, an aching mess

Of cuts and gaping wounds, trauma and

Bruises

Just threaded together, barely, by the strings of your grace.

Nobody can know me as You do, so I burn to know you

When the tidal wave of nothingness climbs its way into my lungs

There is nobody to give me breath except for you, King

You are the only reason I still sing

New

Let your grace soothe me

Let its awesome, terrible power tear down my misconceptions

Knock down every walled-up presupposition

I do not want to live in a bubble of pain

For fear of it popping and the oxygen outside knowing my name

Take me somewhere my heart cries out for you

Fill me with your power, oh God, and your truth.

Kingdom

Lead me to a place of

Utter dependency on you;

I do not want to be this scared little girl,

Locked up, troubled by every

Memory, every ludicrous possibility.

I sneer at those forces, the unknowns swirling around

They do not own me, their reality is unfounded

I am the King’s daughter and His grace surrounds

Me.

And that’s the

End of that story.

April night

Once I

Felt warmth at my back, and fell asleep

Peacefully

Thinking, in a moment of late, exhaustion-induced confusion, that it was you.

But sunlight, and morning

Broke the truth

It was only the cat, curled up at my back.

And you are still dead;

You are still dead.