It’s nights like these that I wonder why anyone

Would ever

Love me as I am.

I cannot help but see the finite in my use; the inability in my body, the inevitable heavy leaning on another that the years will imbue upon my form.

I will not be able to care for myself alone; I will not be able to pretend to be well; I will not survive if I do not allow, or perhaps beg, others to care for me.

And I do not view others in my place as worthless … I do not think of them as lazy, or leeches, or hopeless.

But it is so difficult, reader, whoever you are, for me to put two and two together. I cannot see the value in others and also myself. Somehow i cannot allow that duality, even though it is essentially not duality at all but merely the simplicity of how intrinsic human worth must be. Either we are all of worth or none of us are – there is some old adage that goes to that effect.

But it is so hard, faceless friend, to feel the burden of a broken body already – at 21 – and to be mentally inclining myself to its downfall. Others are planning which classes to take… I am begging my corpse to continue play-acting at life long enough for me to secure some form of a future. A stable marriage, a job with powerful benefits and healthcare… a lucky windbreak to cushion my inevitable decline.

Yet I profess not only with my mouth but with this very vessel – the shattered clay I am bound to – that I am a disciple of one higher than my burdens. His insignia is emblazoned on my flesh at the front of a prowling lion… so where is that faith?

Reader, why can’t I trust my King?

I am afraid. I am tired. Am I lazy? No, not lazy… but most definitely exhausted and undisciplined.

Discipline is a terribly slippery thing to hold on to when there is no regularity in your form. Imagine your skin changes color without any notice, rhyme, or reason. Try to force yourself to match your clothing to yourself each second of each day when your skin could change shades at any moment. Are you going to change clothes every time a new color bursts forth? Are you going to allow the color to settle before trying to match it,

Only to find it has already fled and been replaced by a new tint, equally violent in its contrast? This is, in a far watered-down and gentle metaphor, the unknowing of my existence. It is the smirk the future gives me when I try to prepare for what may come.

I cannot plan far ahead, Reader. I can hardly plan my afternoons.

But I can trust. And I will seek to continue that most basic principle of my faith. If I trust, he will provide, as he always has. And I can let go and be the shapeless, colorless, undisciplined form that I am cursed to be. A thorn in my flesh will not halt my God. I am what I am but I am more importantly His.

And it is to this truth that I stubbornly cling.

The hurting

I have never lived a life not knowing constant pain

I have never seen the stars without an icy, driving rain

What would it be to have shoulders unbowed by heavy strain?

How do you function free from such limiting constraint?

Who would I be untainted, unbroken by this fate

How would I stand – the taller for the freedom from this weight?

WHO WOULD I BE WITHOUT THIS CURSE THAT BUILDS INSIDE MY BRAIN

the poison that is in my bones, my body – so betrayed

Chronic pain has made me stronger, made me weaker, but a soldier

I don’t know who I’d be or what the world would mean

I can’t believe you exist, you free from this red agony

It sounds like a fairytale, some senseless make-believe

That anyone could live and breathe without an omnipresent ache

What kind of life is that?

Indulgent, a dreamland, utterly fake

Who could possibly spend all day without hiding screams inside their face?

The blades that stalk my body have slipped into my mind

Everything is a threat, I am ready for death at any time

I cannot remember a day where I relaxed or ceased to hide

I have always been waiting, waiting for the worst, knowing the toxins will not subside…

Knowing my destiny is this agonizing life.

Trying to ignore the shrieking Worst inside my mind.

I am tired now, it has been decades of fight

I don’t know who I am except the girl hurting inside

The outside, beside, every shade of me has died

A thousand times I’ve waited for my grinning demise

I simply don’t know anymore what hope could possibly be

My faith has yet to desert me, at least I know that I am free

But my battle has not paused for a single momentary rest

I’ve been screaming, bathed in blood, since I drew my first breath

I’ve never existed without constant stress, the pressure of my life a test

How can I pass? What do I say? When will this nightmare fade?

Will a night ever start without my muscles burning flame?

Who am I if not agony, if not the girl who waits

to be saved?

Refusing to be the one who breaks because I’ve always been the broken one and I wish i could refuse this face?

I do not know what life would be without my thorns, these pains

I’ve never taken a breath that wasn’t shadowed by a cost. It’s inconceivable to me

That so many

Breathe for free.