dear,

i forgive you
for the stakes you drove into my chest
for the afternoons of raised voices
for the tears i couldn't stop

i forgive you
for never showing me what a soft hand looks like
for never guiding me through the stormy seas of my own emotions
for never comforting me like i longed to be
(for never holding me when i cried)

i forgive you
for giving me the words i wielded
against myself in the privacy of my solitude
for teaching me promises are meant to be broken
for making me think my own memory was failing me

i forgive you
for letting me trust you
for telling me to trust you
for breaking my heart

i forgive you
because it's finally stopped hurting
to do so

...
.....
...

i search out
glimpses of you,
passing moments,
stills of a life
in which you always smile at me

exhaustion
bone-deep
i can't fight it
it pulls at my lungs
constantly,
trying and trying
to make me succumb.

i know it's right.
i do not sleep enough
but i don't remember
what it feels like
to be fully awake-
a time when fatigue did not weigh me down,
lost in my childhood amnesia.

exhaustion
my conscious mind
drifting gently like
a sandstorm in an hourglass.
i am not strong enough.
it forces my body
to submit
to the weight of my
tired eyelids.

exhaustion is the constant of my current existence
will i ever sleep long enough
to be free of it's power?

is it a lie
if when you said it,
you thought it was true?

sometimes
in the darkest moments
of the darkest nights,
i forget You can hear me.

sometimes
in the brightest moments
of the brightest days
i forget i need You.

i forget the feel of your voice
i forget how it slipped
into the ridged fingerprint
of my soul.
i forget the whisper of your love
i forget how it sounded
when You spoke the truth
and i ignored it.

i forget that
all the static
of my failures
should not overcome
the melody of Your Spirit.
i forget how to listen
and believe
because i am so used to lying to myself
that the truth seems impossible;
just out of my undeserving reach.

oh Lord, i am undeserving
my hands have dirt and filth and blood
caked under the fingernails
and painted in the creases of my palms.
my skin is tainted. i am not whole.
but i am also undeserving
of the things i have whispered
to myself
in the shadows of my depression.

You tell me things that i don't think
i need to hear.
for years, i've refused.
i've so foolishly claimed
my own wisdom.
i am not wise.
i am not deserving.

But i am Yours.

i haven't
felt like this
in a while.

carefree,
soft,
gentle-
letting my hair down,
feeling its softness.
doodling tiny feathered wings,
feeling the pen pull at
the skin of my forearm.
(three little hearts and a rose, too
when i think of you.)

i feel innocent again.
i forgot what it felt like.
i feel like the mistakes i've made
are in the past,
because you don't even know i've
made them.

my soul, the core of me,
is fluttering its wings
(the little wings
i drew on my arm)
and it feels-
small.
i do not know how else to describe it.
it doesn't feel small in the fact that
it could be easily trampled;
but small in that fact that
you could cup your warm, steady hands
around the bird that lives in my
ribcage
and remind me that everything's okay
because i trust you.