The poet laureate in me realizes that I can’t let go of this outlet… so here’s a poem.
” learning how to
d i e. ”
Grace Davis
God,
I didn’t know it was going to be this hard.
I have this anchor weight against my heart.
I can’t see your face in the haziness of this fog I’ve created.
The question of “why?” taunts me.
Fear,
You wicked girl.
You keep me
from the intimacy, my Papa craves with me.
You keep me
from these wild dreams, set deep inside this soul of mine.
Fear,
You are a temptress
with your alluring whisper of self-deprecation & insecurities.
You are a siren
with your melodic tunes of unworthiness and broken identity.
Fear,
I apologize.
I’m sorry I have relied on you in such a heavy manner.
I’m sorry to have used you as a crutch for my own crippling human heart.
Fear,
I’m afraid that we must begin to part ways.
I must release you to your true owner.
Now, I know it won’t be an easy parting.
I had become quite dependent upon your presence in all things.
Fear,
Let me explain.
T h i s .
This is the dying.
Well, it’s the learning how to die.
Learning how to
pick up my own cross.
Learning how to
choose him the same way he chooses me every day.
It hurts.
Hurts and aches in an unsettling and unraveling type of way.
Unsettling because
I’ve never questioned in such an intensity.
Unraveling because
the more I uncover, I see I need him in every breath I take.
Per contra,
I’m embracing this dying.
I’m grasping onto the uncharted field on which I set my feet.
I’m swallowing the cancer of pride and letting Papa do my healing.
I’m ripping out my walls of comfortable down.
I’m
discovering,
learning,
growing,
becoming.
Fear,
I’m sorry that this is the becoming the farewell for us.
I know that you have no place here and you aren’t in love.
God,
I’m lifting my arms and hands to you in praise.
I’m giving you my life.
Father,
Thank you for this breath and the days ahead.
Thank you, Papa.
///
I love you all!!
Let me know how I can be praying for you.
Message or email me!!!
