Him

I'm not really in the mood for poetry today. And that's rare. But I just feel like talking.

What are we all doing? What am I doing? Most of the time I keep quiet in (false) humility but today I talked. I talked and now I just cried. Why am I crying? I know that the words I said weren't completely sincere. I know I was a hypocrite. But I'm not in  despair, no. Not like before. I know He still loves me. In my weakness. In this rawness that He craves.

He wounds me but He finally penetrates.
I will be joyfully wounded.

Honestly, I actually sort of believe that I'll truly be happy. God help me.

Look at Him. Don't look at me. Gaze into His fiery eyes. He won't be denied. Let's let Him wound us, let Him touch us. Let Him move us. God, move us.

We are desperate.

Long

I long for the cool mud and clear rivers. I long for the salty air and the way the waves crash on the shore. The waves where I come from are polite but I've heard of larger waves. Waves that are spoilt brats, that steal lives and waves that jealously compete. I've heard of waves that wash over you like they can't hold back their love. Waves that crash. I long for waves that feel.

I long for long walks and for tired but gratified bones. I long for eyes that are strong enough to see beauty. I long to dive.

I long for quiet cottages where the young couple lives with their baby. I long for large looming cities where not everybody is kind. But it's those cities that signify humanity. I long for tired eyes to find strength in His eyes. I long for weak but honest people who are trying to get by. I long for people who  have barely scratched the surface of their destined lives.

And yet, for some reason I sit in a concrete box.

Things will soon change.

How

Honestly

Honestly
Will I find?
A star so bright
In the bleak night sky
So cold

Lonely souls with tired eyes
I'm risking cliche paradigms
But who cares
The night grows old.

It's just You and me
And our 123s
Come dance with me
Maybe we'll find that star tonight.

Maybe the skies will clear
Help me to see again
I'm tired
I'm cold
I need fire.

When will the songs become a reality
I am weak.

That Church Kid.

Hi.
I am a 'church kid'
Lots of people are familiar with that term. I was that kid that heard both 'fire and brimstone' and 'He loves you' and was a little confused. I was the kid that didn't dare question.

I was the kid that thought the only way to follow God was to suppress the very longings that made me human.

I was the kid that didn't talk much because it was prideful to want people to know you, the only things you say should be for God's glory. Yeah, I was the kid that looked down. I was the kid that suffered guilt with the vaguest sensations till I became afraid to feel anything.

Because with everything I did, everything I felt, the fallenness tainted it all.

I was the kid that knew it was wrong to be weak, but didn't know how to be strong.

I was the kid that was told to love.
And so tried to love in hypocrisy.
And so tried to forgive.

And then it got worse.

For every wrong done to me, I was the kid that knew it was wrong to blame the other person. So with every disappointment, with every hurt, I knew it was always my fault.

I was the kid that believed that God hated me.

I was the church kid that sincerely tried to love God but also sincerely believed liking Him was near impossible.

I was the kid that sang the songs, knowing I couldn't live up to it all.

I knew, if I tried to live, I would do it wrong.

And I would sin.

And it tried to live but anxiety gripped me time and time again.

I was the kid that built walls against sin but ended up forfeiting life in the process.

I was the kid that was never a kid.
I was the kid that tried to bear the world's salvation on my shoulders before I ever felt it's joy in me.

I was the kid that tried to be His servant without ever being His child.

And I'm still struggling not to be that 'church kid'.
I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one.

Let Him love you.

Broken

I deserve to be broken