Author’s Note: This poem is a bit of a divergence. More autobiographical than made up horror. I have been silent over the last few weeks due to an overwhelming depression and numbness. I am trying to break free of that state. Please enjoy the following poem.
“When I learned to love myself, to accept all the broken parts, the ghosts of my past could no longer bind me; could no longer hold me in so much stagnant water. I was at last free.”
It has taken me years to write these lines with any honesty. Over a decade of internal warfare, wrestling demons, letting go of lies and bullshit, to finally look into the mirror without hate. Without contempt.
It feels like I’m putting the pieces back together, but in truth I’m putting my life together. I’m peeling away dead skin and uprooting the deeply sunken in bitter roots which ran my life in cycles of hurt and recovery; hurt and recovery; hurt and recovery.
The scar tissue is no longer shame, but beautiful. A road map of origin and destinations; and I am going places.
I had to learn to love myself. I had to learn to see me as God sees me. Eyes filled with grace and forgiveness. Compassionate and filled with purpose. Loving for love’s sake.
This love has poured out into the lives of the hurting. Given strength to those who could no longer walk; sight to those who refused to see. Manifested itself in the form of forgiveness for them and for me.
Them. They told me what their god expected of me. When I couldn’t fit that cross shaped box, I was shamed, and I lived that shame. Calvary Chapel, that church on the hill where they crucified the unworthy over and over again.
The weight of their nails heavier than a father’s distance and iron fists. I couldn’t let that shit go. My grip ruined me. Drove me to deepest hate. Sent me on a journey of journal entries filled with verse and passage sworn to unwrite myself.
Snatched me away like a thief in the night.
Took captive my grip that I might finally let go.
When I learned to love myself, to accept all the broken parts, the ghosts of my past could no longer bind me; could no longer hold me in so much stagnant water. I was at last free.
I am at last free.