My hope is that, if I put it into words,
Tangible manifestations of the action that takes place
Behind opaque skin and an ironed exterior
That it will be brought to light.
What I'm ignoring in shadows of my soul,
Refusing to fortify myself against,
Will no longer be my secret
Contained within the walls of myself,
But rather displayed for what it is,
What I already know it is,
And what I cannot seem to deny.
You see, I am not prepared for battle.
When I see alcohol, I see weakness.
When I see drug use, I see weakness.
I see dependence, the desire to be something we're not.
Weak.
But who can condemn the weak?
The strong.
And I am not strong.
I want to be a fighter, put me on the frontlines!
Then I look back from the plough that drives on in front of me.
One foot in sea and one on shore,
One hand in a pot of gold, the other in Your side.
I cave, and I cry out to God to fight these battles for me
Because I want to bring Him victory,
But I don't want to fight.
I am not here to chase rushes!
Though I am not enslaved,
I am a spineless heap on the floor,
Crying for more.
It's the domino effect
Starting beneath the bones of my chest,
Electric, tingling, exhilarating.
It spiders down my arms to the tips of my fingers,
To my belly button,
The pit of my stomach,
Legs, feet, toes. Oh toes.
But I am not here to chase rushes.
Though I am not enslaved,
I am a spineless heap on the floor,
Crying for more.
I hear the warning bells,
A call to fight,
An invitation to war with the finest fighters of this field.
Winged, horned, armed, powerful.
To choose God over what we desire most,
That is the utmost calling.
Calling,
Calling,
Calling...
It's time.
